8. Off Limits

Even though it’s seven p.m., I show up at San Esteban Suites amid absolute chaos. What seems like a thousand people are crammed into the lobby, at least three quarters of them wearing bright costumes.

It takes me far too long to reach the front desk, where a harried-looking woman asks for my name and reservation number. Once I supply them, she types the info into the computer.

“Oh, dear,” she says, her eyes widening. “There’s been a mistake.”

Sometimes I really fucking hate passive language. “Whose mistake? Who made the mistake?”

She gulps. “We made the mistake, sir. We double-booked your room. There’s a convention this week, and…we don’t have any other rooms. Let me call some nearby hotels for you and see if I can find you other accommodations.” Handing me a small card, she says, “Feel free to enjoy a complimentary beverage at the bar. I’ll work on this and get back to you with news as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate you trying to make this right,” I say, although the last thing I want to do is fight my way through this crowd to the also-crowded bar.

If San Esteban Suites looks like this, I can only imagine it’s the same in every other hotel, motel, and private short-term rental in the county.

The bartender, possibly alerted by the desk clerk, comes right over to me despite the group of costumed people waiting. “What can I get you, sir?”

“Whiskey, neat.” I may as well enjoy a free drink while I wait for my bad news.

“On it, sir.”

Moments later, I’m sipping whiskey and wondering if this is truly the worst thing to happen. Could it be fate, again, throwing me into Evie’s path? Because Lincoln never has to worry about accommodations when he comes to San Esteban. He just stays with Mark, a short hour away.

And right now, Evie is staying there, too.

It’s impossible to call anyone in this noise, so I send him a text. Hey, I’m in SE and they double-booked my room. There’s nowhere else to stay. How about I crash with you at Mark’s place?

Three little dots appear, showing me that he’s responding. Then they disappear. Then they appear again.

I know what you’re doing.

Sighing, I take a photo of the crowded lobby and text it to him.

It’s either stay with you or go back to San Diego, I write. Can’t you use my help in SE?

Fuckis the only response I get.

I’ll take that as a yes.

I haven’t had more than three sips of my drink, so I set it down and return to the front desk. The woman who helped me is on the phone, a panicked expression on her face. I wave to get her attention as she ends her call.

“I’ve found a place to stay,” I say. “If you would be so kind as to book me a car rental, that’s all I’ll need from you.”

“I’m so sorry for the mistake, sir,” she says. “There hasn’t been any hotel with a room?—”

“It’s fine, truly. But a car would be appreciated.”

“Of course. Any specific requests?”

“Something fast.”

I’ve stayed at Mark’s house a couple of times before, on visits with Link, so I find it easily. Once I reach the driveway, I pass another car on its way out. Fearful that I’m going to miss Evie, I look carefully at the people in the vehicle. It’s driven by a red-haired woman, with a dark-haired woman as the passenger. It doesn’t look like anyone’s in the back seat, but the rear windows are tinted.

If I miss Evie, I’ll have to come back. I doubt she’d appreciate returning home to yet another guy she was intimate with at Vice.

Then again, she might appreciate it a lot.

Fuck, I need this girl.

* * *