Page 17 of Hot Mess
Dani’s eyebrow rose. Unfortunately, even though I had a hard time reading my sister when it came to men, the illiteracy did not go both ways.
“Obviously not,” I added. “I just wondered… He seemed like he really wanted to talk to you. He was, uh, pretty drunk, though.”
She made a little snorting sound, like,Big surprise. “So?”
“So… How badly did you screw him?”
“I didn’t screw him at all,” she said. “I told you that. I considered it briefly, but as wasted as he was, he probably couldn’t have gotten it up anyway.”
“Really? That’s your story?”
Maybe if she’d told me thatbeforelast night, I might’ve believed her.
But now I’d met the man—the rock star—in person. I mean, I didn’t make out with him or anything, but Ashley Player definitely didn’t strike me as a guy who’d have any difficulties in the erection department. He was fit,hot… and the look he’d given me last night in the rain had way too much smolder on it for a dude whose equipment wasn’t working.
“Men like that,” my sister said evenly, “are used to being catered to. I don’t cater.”
This, I knew.
But still…
“Men like what? Rock stars?”
“Yes, rock stars. Andprettyrock stars…?” She shuddered, like it was the grossest combo imaginable. “Can you imagine?”
Yeah. I could imagine.
Though clearly what I was imagining, where Ashley Player’s sexual performance was concerned, was the exact opposite of what she was imagining.
“So you’re telling me you’re not the least bit interested in him?” I challenged.
“I never said I was.”
“You said he asked you tomarryhim. Was that true?”
“I told you, he was wasted.” She glanced at her watch, reminding me she was short on time. “So was I. Who can remember exactly who asked who to do what? It wasfour years ago.”
“And the tattoo, the one of your name on his body?” I pressed.
“I don’t know. His friend said he got one, but how would I know? Look, I’ve gotta go.”
“This doesn’t bother you?” I called after her as she tried to disappear out the door. “That he wanted to talk to you? That he possibly has a tattoo of your name, and you won’t talk to him?”
She paused again, her hand on the doorknob. “Don’t be dramatic, Dani. It’s not like I’m dodging his calls or something. I met himonce. I haven’t heard from him in four years.”
“Because you gave him a fake phone number!”
“Honestly, Danica, I have nothing to say to Ashley Player. And some drunken tattoo he got, if he did get it, has a lot more to do with him and whatever issues he’s got than it does with me. The guy was a hot mess when I met him.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, ‘so’? Why does this botheryou?”
“I don’t know. He seemed… nice.” Lame choice of word, definitely. I really wasn’t sure if he seemed nice.
He seemed drunk.
Beautiful.
