Wrapping up this working lunch, I finish posting today’s progress of the animals’ health on TikTok and Instagram. A cute picture of Big Ben and Coco grooming each other. Billy standing with his front feet on Venus’ hindquarters––one of the rescue horses we got from a horrible dude ranch––while she’s laying down sunbathing. And Milo, our only llama, peeking through the slats of his fence.
Our followers are generous people, loyal to the cause, who go above and beyond whenever we need financial help. Keeping them up to date on how their adopted children––because that’s what they feel like to most of us––are doing is a small price to pay.
“I almost forgot.” Mona grabs something out of a brown shopping bag and places it on the counter.
“Binoculars?” To Mona’s credit, the walkie talkies have been fun and practical. But binoculars? I pick them up, inspect them. “What are these for?”
“To spy on the men,” she answers without so much as a hint of shame.
“Are you serious?” I have to ask because as long as I have known her, Mona still manages to surprise me on a daily basis.
She nods. “As a dead body in your bed.” Then, looking me squarely in the eyes, she says, “These are gonna come in handy. You’re gonna thank me later.”
See what I mean?
“I wonder about you sometimes.”
“As you should.” She winks and turns to clean the mess on the counter we made preparing lunch.
I don’t know what’s worse: that she’s almost always right or that they are going to come in handy. Time will tell.
“Speaking of men, have you seen Aidan today?” Our resident movie star hasn’t come out of his trailer since we last saw him yesterday morning. His brother has come and gone a number of times, often returning with groceries or shopping bags in hand. But no movie star.
Mona shakes her head. “You think he’s okay? Maybe I should go check on him?”
Yeah, right. Like I would leave her alone with him. I love Mona like I love my liver and both kidneys, she’s precious to me, but she can be a liability at times.
“I’m a little worried, too,” I admit. Genuinely worried. I really don’t want to be in the tabloids for having botched this thing. His fans will inevitably blame me, and the rescue will suffer as a consequence. “Maybe we should both go…”
“Great idea. Let me fix my hair.”
Before I can say another word, she disappears down the hall to her bedroom.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re standing outside the silver door of the trailer, staring at it, Mona holding the food the resort had delivered.
“You knock,” Mona orders.
“No, you knock.” Now that we’re here, I’m a little unsure, my stomach churning nervously. I have no clue what awaits us on the other side of that door, and I’m not exactly eager to find out.
“Okay, I will.”
I’m pretty sure I just got played. In case you haven’t caught on yet, Mona is a siamese cat––wily and mischievous, with a tendency to get into trouble, but fun as all get out.
She raises her fist to knock and I grab her wrist. “Wait…” I whisper.
“What?” she whispers back.
“Should we go get his brother?”
“Why are we whispering?”
“I don’t know, but should we?”
“No. Then it’ll turn into somethin’ that maybe shouldn’t be turned into anythin’.”
This actually makes sense to me. I’m not in a hurry to see Shane Hughes’ cold expression of superiority directed at me so I release my grip on her wrist. “Carry on.”
“Mr. Hughes?” she says loud enough to wake the dead. “Aidan? We have your lunch. The spa delivered it this mornin’.”
Nothing.
I beat on the door with a fist. “Aidan… you okay in there?”
Still nothing. We glance at each other in unspoken understanding. Mona gingerly opens the unlocked door and we slowly climb the steps into the trailer.
To say the Airstream is the top of the luxury market is an understatement. I’m fairly certain most people’s homes are not this nice. It’s also big enough to accommodate four or more people comfortably. Why his brother couldn’t just share this thing with him instead of evicting me out of my home is anyone’s guess. My guess is that he’s a selfish ass.
The soft sound of the AC buzzing greets us when we walk into the den area. At the far end of the hall, the bedroom door is closed.
“What do we do?” I ask Mona.
“Aidan,” she shouts. “Hi. It’s Mona Harris and I have your food.”
Placing the take-out boxes on the kitchen counter, she walks past me while I open the refrigerator to find it fully stocked with every imaginable drink. Everything other than alcohol.
“Where are you going?” I hiss as she heads toward the one place she shouldn’t be headed—his bedroom.
“He could be dead in there,” she hisses back. “Or almost dead––which is even worse. You wanna be the one who let him die?”
Lord save me from this drama. Taking a deep breath, I follow her slowly.
“Aidan. Mr. Hughes,” I call out loudly. “We’re in your trailer and we are approaching your bedroom. Do not be alarmed. We just want to make sure you’re alright.”
“Tell me your daddy’s the fuzz without telling me your daddy’s the fuzz,” I hear Mona mutter.
This gets an honest to goodness burst of laughter out of me that unravels the knots in my chest. At the door, where no sound can be detected on the other side, I nudge Mona to open it.
The door creeps open to reveal a full-size king bed, white sheets… and a man. Laying face down, spread eagle, is a very naked Aidan Hughes.
“Oh,” pops out of me. I turn my back to his naked ass and have to force Mona to do the same. Not before she gets a good eyeful of him, though.
“Fucking hell, you ladies are loud,” he grumbles, voice gravelly from disuse and his mouth buried in his pillow.
So he lives. “We were worried you were…” I pause for lack of a diplomatic answer.
“I was what?” he snaps. “I can’t even have a damn beer.”
“Dead,” Mona volunteers.
“Hate to disappoint, but I’m still very much alive.”
He sounds salty about it. Maybe Mona was right once again—he’s depressed. “Have you eaten?” I ask. No response. “We brought your spa food.”
“Fanfuckingtastic.”
“You should really eat something,” I press. “Afterward, we can talk about your work schedule… for your community service hours,” I’m quick to add, voice shakier than I want it to be because I can feel the tension rising in the room even with my back turned to him.
I hear him moving around behind me. Which is basically my cue to grab Mona and run, but…
“See yourselves out,” he says as he walks past us, bare-assed, dick swinging, and disappears into his bathroom.
Taking Mona by the wrist, I hustle us out of the trailer and slam the door shut. I’ll note that it took a few extra tugs to get her moving.
“That was nerve racking,” comes out of me, along with the breath I was holding.