Page 91 of The Fast Lane

“I really want to.”

And my heart climbed back up…to my throat. “Okay.”

“But not now. You’re a little drunk and I don’t want to take advantage.”

“Oh my gosh, Theo, stop being such a good guy. Please take advantage of me.”

He touched his lips to my forehead in the sweetest, gentlest gesture. Now my heart was in a puddle. “Go to bed, Alicia.”

“Fine.” I tried to get the key card in the slot at least three times before Theo took it from me and did it himself. Then something in my less than sober brain clicked, and I gasped. “Alicia. A.N. Is the A for Alicia?”

Theo winked. “I’ll see you in the morning. Get some sleep.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

Note to self:

Send a fan letter to my new

favorite author.

Sleep, it turned out, was the furthest thing from my mind. After quietly changing, I climbed into bed and went to work searching for authors named Alicia who wrote pirate books.

It was no accident he’d chosen my name. It couldn’t be. I thought back to the clue he’d given me at the pool. A warmth started in my stomach and moved through my body. I was the person he thought so highly of. Me.

What did it mean?

It didn’t take long to find the name: Alicia Night, whose website proclaimed she wrote “Love Stories Set on the High Seas.” She had quite an online following: reader art, reviews, devoted fans, and constant speculation about her identity.

I immediately downloaded every book to my reading app. Each cover featured scantily clad men and women. On pirate ships. In torrid embraces. With lustful eyes. Written by Theo. Mild-mannered Theo. My Theo.

My brain could not connect my quiet, thoughtful Theo with these stories. This must be like what happens when someone finds out there’s a serial killer in the family and they say things like, “I can’t believe it. He was such a nice guy.”

Except no murder, of course.

It was after one in the morning, but that didn’t stop me from opening one of the books and reading the first two chapters before I was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

I scrambled to the window and peeked through the curtains. It was Theo.

Quietly as possible, I opened the door. “Is everything okay?”

He shook his head. “It’s Mack.”

Despite calling forty-three times and sending just as many text messages, Mack didn’t respond to any of them.

“Straight to voicemail again.” I rubbed grit from my eyes since it was now after two in the morning. Any pie cocktail buzz I’d had disappeared the second I realized we had a problem.

When Theo had returned to the room, he’d found a note from Mack saying he and Mimi were going out on the town. I gently woke Abe, who said he’d seen Mack before he went to bed around ten, which meant he’d left sometime between ten and one in the morning. Nothing good ever happened then.

I paced the length of Mack and Theo’s room. “What do I do?”

Definitely not calling my mother, that was for sure. Why couldn’t he answer his phone and let me know he was okay?

“He is a grown man,” Theo said but when he got a look at my face, his voice trailed off.

“It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“I know.”