Jesus, why did she have to look so damn good?
“What the fuck are you wearing?” I demanded, making sure there was plenty of accusation in my voice. Couldn’t let her know how much I loved her looking like this.
She scowled at me and stepped inside. “Pajamas. You know those clothes people wear in the middle of the night when they’re sleeping?”
I snorted. “Never worn any.”
She snorted right back, narrowing her eyes. “Figures.”
“Seriously.” I motioned to her clothes. “Where’s the slinky, tight, slutty clothes? What if this had been a booty call? Please, God, at least tell me you have a matching bra and panty set under there.”
“I don’t even own a matching bra and panty set. And I knew this wasn’t a booty call.” She tossed me a dry glance. “There was no reason to bother dressing up.”
I scratched my hair, confused. “Then why the hell did you think I was calling you?”
“I assumed you’d accidently strangled one of your whores to death, or something equally kinky and awful, and you needed help disposing of the body.” She yawned and glanced around. “So, where is she?”
I stared at her, touched. “Would you really help me bury a body?” That was so fucking sweet. If Gamble ever gave me his blessing to bang his sister, I’d be all over her so fast. “There is no dead body, by the way.”
She scowled, looking confused. “So, if there’s no dead hooker for me to help bury, then why did you call me over?”
From down the hall, the bathroom door came open. Caroline lifted a curious eyebrow, so I tipped my head that way. “For her,” was all I said.
Caroline moved to the opening of the hallway—God, I even liked watching the way she moved—and peered down it just as Blondie, decked out in Ham’s baggy clothes, ducked her head hesitantly out at us. Her face was blanched of so much color it made the red bruise sprouting on her cheek really stand out.
I hissed a curse under my breath and balled my hand into a fist.
Caroline covered her mouth. “Oh my God. Zoey?”
The two girls rushed toward each other, hugging tightly. If it were under any other circumstances, I might’ve gotten a little excited about watching them come together so eagerly, and I totally would’ve cracked a threesome comment. But then Blondie ruined the possible eroticism of the moment by bursting into tears and sobbing all over Caroline.
Fuck. Poor kid.
Caroline lifted her face to sear me with a fierce stare. “Who did this?”
“Caine Fucking Belcher,” I said. “He had his hand down her pants when I caught them together. He would’ve...you know, done that R-word to her if I hadn’t stumbled across them.”
Blondie shuddered and started gagging. I winced for making her relive that moment again by bringing it up. She burrowed deeper into Caroline, and Caroline petted her hair and murmured soothingly into Blondie’s ear before looking up again.
“Belcher,” she repeated. “The same guy who was passing around naked pictures of Aspen?”
There had only been one naked picture, but I lifted my eyebrows, impressed. “Good memory.”
“That bastard,” she sneered, looking ready to find Belcher and murder him with her bare hands. Then she frowned and glanced around. “Where’s Quinn?”
When Blondie cried even harder at the mention of his name, I scowled at Caroline before saying, “Good fucking question.”
“I don’t understand.”
She frowned, confused, so I caught her up to speed on the part of the story where Quinn caught us coming out of the room, looking like we’d fucked.
“...and then he took off, so idiot Blondie here didn’t race after him to tell him what had really happened; she just wanted him to believe her all on his own steam, so she raced after him to say pretty much nothing, for which he dumped her and took off...again.”
“Hey, don’t call her an idiot,” Caroline scolded, hugging Blondie to her tighter. “She was nearly raped. I think she’s allowed to have a scrambled brain at the moment.”
Okay, so she might have a point. I grumbled a little under my breath and ran my fingers through my hair.
Caroline sighed and pulled up her phone with one hand while she continued to hold Blondie with the other.
“Good idea,” I said, snapping my fingers. “You try getting a hold of Ham. Maybe he’ll answer for you. He’s been ignoring all my attempts.”
“I’m not calling Quinn. I’m calling Noel.”