Rochelle morphs into some version of herself I have no knowledge of. She shushes the baby, walks to the small counter where the hotel-room-sized refrigerator is, takes out a bottle, and then sticks it inside some contraption as she rocks the baby on her hip.
I look over at Bric, who is watching everything she does with a look of fascination. “What’s that thing?” he asks.
I kinda want to know too, but wasn’t gonna ask.
“A bottle warmer,” Rochelle says, turning to face us. “You came at a bad time. She needs to eat and then nap. We were on the road since early this morning. So we’re both tired.”
“Where did you come from?” I ask.
Rochelle pulls on her t-shirt. “Here.”
Pagosa Springs. “Where are you going?” I ask, wanting to tick off as many questions as I can before she boots us out. Because we are definitely being booted out of here in a matter of minutes.
“Jackson,” she says. “I was gonna go up to Jackson.”
“You have a place up there?” Bric asks.
“I’m gonna check into a hotel for a while.”
“Good luck with that,” I say. “There’s no rooms in Jackson the week after Thanksgiving. So unless you booked ahead, you’re fucked.”
“Swearing,” Bric says, tired of repeating himself.
I roll my eyes, which makes Rochelle smile. “I’ll be OK.”
“One night then?” I ask. “You came here for one night to what? Fuck with us again?”
“I called Chella, not you.”
“Yeah, I heard. Passing through. Don’t tell Quin.”
The little bottle warmer thing dings and the baby must know that means food, because she suddenly gets very fussy. Rochelle turns away, juggling the baby and the bottle for a few seconds, until she gets everything straight, and then walks over to the couch and plops down with the baby in her lap.
Tiny hands eagerly clasp around the bottle and bring it to her mouth. Seconds later there is the sound of sucking.
I want to touch her. Both of them. I want to walk over to that couch, sit my ass down, and be with them. But I won’t. I refuse to give in that easily.
“We should go,” Bric says. “It was nice, I guess, Rochelle. But you do what you have to do.”
“Do what you have to do?” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “No. Nope. I want a DNA test. I want that right now, before you leave town, Rochelle. I want a fucking DNA test.”
When I look at Bric he’s got a weird smug look on his face. But I ignore it and pull out my phone, doing a search for paternity testing in Denver. “Here’s one.” I press the contact number and let it ring though.
“You’re doing this now?” Bric asks.
“She’s passing though,” I say. “If not now, when?”
“Rochelle,” Bric says, swiping my phone from me and ending the call.
“What the fuck, asshole?” He opens his mouth and I cut him off. “If you bitch at me one more time about swearing in front of a baby who can’t even talk yet, I’ll punch you in the eye.”
Bric looks back to Rochelle. “You don’t have a room booked, right?”
She shakes her head.
“Then you’re not in a hurry. Passing through can mean a lot of things. It can mean one night. It can mean one week. It can mean one month.”
“Not really in any hurry,” she says.
“So just… hang out for a little bit. Let’s talk about this stuff. Take more time with it. You’re at least staying one night. You already have the room. So we’ll go, let you have time with the baby. Get settled. And we’ll come back tomorrow.”
They both look at me like I’m the one in charge here.
“OK,” she finally says. “I can stay a few days. Try to work this out.”
“Good,” Bric says. “Perfect. You happy?” he asks, looking at me.
No. No, I’m not happy at all. I’m fucking pissed off.
But Bric moves on and says, “You?” He looks at Rochelle. She nods. “Perfect. Then we’ll get going and one of us will call you in the morning.”
Bric turns towards the door and I follow, snatching my phone from his hand as he passes me. I don’t want to look back as I turn the corner towards the short hallway. But I do.
And it hurts. So bad.
God, I want them.
Chapter Five - Bric
When I get back to the Club I head straight for my office. I have two messages from Jordan asking if I have anyone in mind from the Club to take the last girl’s place.
The Club girls never work out. I knew this once, but had forgotten it. Rochelle was around too long. Important things like that slipped my mind, even though they were hard-won lessons back in the early years.
I text him back. No. I’m taking a break.
I don’t wait for his response—I know he’s in court this afternoon, so he can’t answer anyway. So I take out the card the former FBI guy gave me, and call Rochelle’s cell phone using the landline.
“Hey,” she says in a soft voice, picking up on the first ring.
“That baby sleeping?”
“Almost.”
“I think it went well.”
“If you say so,” she whispers. I hear rustling, then some hushed shushing, like she’s trying to walk away from the baby without upsetting her. And then she’s back, talking normal. “Smith? What the hell was that?”
“I have no idea,” I say truthfully. “I really have no clue why he was so angry.”
“And the money? I feel dirty, Bric.”
“Don’t be dumb. His money’s just as good as Quin’s.”
“But it’s the reason why he sent it. Stay away. Fuck him. Just fuck him.”
“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject. “I think Quin’s on board.”
“With me?”
“No.” I laugh.
“Why is that funny?”
“Because you hurt him, Rochelle. I’m pretty sure he came to see you just for the baby. And he thinks it’s his. One hundred percent his. So we probably should let him do that DNA test.”
“If he’s not coming around for me then… he’s coming around for you? Are you guys getting someone else?”
She sounds worried. Maybe genuinely worried that this might not work out the way she’s planned.
When she told me she didn’t want to take part in my plan down in Pagosa Springs yesterday I thought, OK. Well, I tried. But then she explained. She didn’t want me taking her back, presenting her like a gift, making things right. Starting the game again, just the three of us.
But she had her own plan. It’s not much different from mine, except she wanted to show up in Denver herself, call Chella—whom I knew would go straight to Quin—and Quin would show up at her hotel room and have the confrontation. For lack of a better word to call it.
She didn’t want me to bring her into the game because that would make me number one. Which makes sense. I’m not her number one, Quin is. He needs to be the guy to make the first move.
I didn’t count on Smith being so dead set on going over there with him. Or dragging me along, for that matter. I figured it would be a one-on-one. Just Rochelle and Quin. I imagined some tears from Rochelle. Quin comforting her. Then some make-up sex.