Page 53 of Royal Trouble
Besides, binge-watching old episodes ofSupernaturalwas better than beating herself up over the way things had ended with Xander. He wanted time? Fine by her. He could have all the time in the world. She’d be busy living her life, not sitting around feeling like shit.
Okay, fine. She definitely felt like shit.
There was a tiny part of her that wished she’d never told him about RGW—because orgasms—but it was a small part. Telling him had been the right choice. Correction—it had been the only choice. Whatever was happening between them, she couldn’t go into it with the lies hanging over her head like a guillotine waiting to fall. Honesty was the best policy. Unless of course you were a real-life Gossip Girl.
Then, maybe not so much.
But, dammit, she’d said she was sorry. And she was, but she didn’t have the ability to go back in time and make it right, no matter how much she wished she could.
Which was why she was going to sit her ass on the couch, eat chocolate, and watch Sam and Dean kick some hellhound ass. Damn right she was.
Halfway through the first episode, the only royalty on her mind was the king of Hell, so naturally her phone vibrated. She glanced down to see an incoming video chat—from Xander.
What the actual fuck?
Pride told her to ignore the call, but curiosity bitch-slapped the stubborn little voice as she snatched up the phone and hit accept. After three days of wondering whether he could forgive her, she needed answers. Even if they weren’t the ones she wanted.
Xander’s handsome face appeared on the screen, and her heart did a happy dance. “Hello, Evie.”
“Hey. What’s up?” Nice. Not too formal. Totally cool.
“Well, I’m in a bit of a bind—” His smile faltered. “Um, is everything all right?”
Aside from the fact that she was unemployed, flat broke, and the one man she wanted to fuck her boneless had walked out on her? Peachy. “Everything’s great.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, brows knitting together in concern. “You look a little…green?”
Everly shrieked and turned the camera away. How the hell had she forgotten she was wearing the mask?
There was an explosion on the TV.
Right. Sam and Dean.
“Uh, give me just a sec, okay?” She tossed the phone on the couch and sprinted to the bathroom where she scrubbed her face clean in record time. A glance in the mirror proved her skin was still a little splotchy, but at least she didn’t look like Swamp Thing.
When she returned to the phone, Xander was waiting patiently, his usual cocky grin in place. “You were saying?”
“Right. Well, I’m in a bit of a bind, you see.” A flush colored his cheeks, and she tried to remember if she’d ever seen the royal blush. Up until this point, she’d been fairly certain he didn’t possess an ounce of shame. “There was a mix up on the date for Liam’s stag night, and now I’ve got a dozen men coming in from all over the continent and no place to house them, no entertainment, and no food.”
Everly frowned. He was calling her for help with a bachelor party? Were they just going to blow right past him walking out on her the other day? And what the hell made him think she would be any help? She hadn’t even planned Lucy’s hen night, because her best friend—who was a control freak moonlighting as an event planner—had insisted on planning her own. Which was fine by Everly, since she’d been half a world away.
“Okay. I’m going to need you to back up,” she said, flopping down on the couch and curling her legs beneath her. “Are you seriously calling to ask me help you plan a royal stag night?”
“Yes.”
That was it. No explanation. No groveling.
Fucking royals.
She sighed. “And when is this party supposed to take place?”
“Saturday.” This time at least he had the good grace to sound abashed.
“Impossible.”
“I realize it’s short notice—”
“It’s not short notice. It’s no notice,” she argued, pressing pause onSupernatural. Clearly this conversation was going to require her full attention. “How did this happen?”