My Client's Former Best Friend | MEANIE/MINWON

Chapter Thirteen.

In theory, Mingyu and Junhui were the same size. Only Junhui was shorter, leaner, and way less muscular. And, apart from the current Speedo exception, exclusively wore suits. Mingyu grimaced at the closet of them, already pressed and hung in rows of subtly changing hues. He scowled down at his jeans and t-shirt. They would have been dirty but acceptable, torn from his fall down the stairs the day before but only at the knee. But then Junhui had bled all over them while he was playing doctor, again. They’d have to go.

  Then there was the problem of the arm. It hurt when he lifted it. It hurt when he didn’t. He could write a fucking rhyme about all the ways it hurt. There was no way he could get out of his shirt without assistance. Assistance Junhui couldn’t provide while he was covering himself with Band-Aids. Mingyu didn’t like his other option. Not because he didn’t want Wonwoo to see him naked; he did. But there were so many important, crucial things they had to deal with right now, and he didn’t think his libido could handle another booty call near-miss.

  His eyes scanned the bedroom, hoping to find another solution or that another person would magically appear. The room, with its breezy resort furniture, remained shiny, spotless, and empty.

Aren’t bellhops and valets supposed to magically appear when you need them? What kind of five-star establishment is this?

  He sighed. At least he could change his pants on his own. No way in hell was he having Wonwoo zip up his fly unless there was some hanky panky involved first.

  Hanky panky? Who even says that anymore?

  He got the pants on, using his free hand to pull up one side and then the other, all the while trying not to get the blood from his shirt on them. By the time he was done, he was winded. From putting on pants. Things had really gone downhill lately.

  He picked up the crisp, white button-down shirt—no way was he wearing a jacket in this heat—and headed down the hall to the room on the far side of Junhui’s. The hallway was deserted, evacuated after the blast. In the space that had once been his suite, there was smoke and the sound of a fire crew putting out the last of the flames. He could see lumps of blackened furniture, now soggy and dilapidated nearly beyond recognition.

  The bomb had taken out his entire suite, the sitting area wall of Junhui’s suite, and the bedroom wall to the room on the other side. Mingyu wondered what the people in that room had thought or if maybe, horribly, they’d been hurt in the explosion.

Who would do such a thing? Not only that, but who gets the room number wrong?

Thank God they had or he wouldn’t be standing there, half alive in a bloody shirt. But seriously. First the stairs and now the hotel. The murderers were losing their game. And where the hell was Minghao? Wouldn’t he want to be present when his fiancé-killing plot finally succeeded? Or maybe his earlier suspicion was wrong and Minghao actually had been kidnapped.

  Mingyu rubbed his head. Too many questions on not enough sleep, whiskey, or pain meds. He turned away from the wreckage and knocked on Wonwoo’s door instead.

  He opened the door at once, as though expecting him. He’d changed, replacing his business suit get-up with a sleek white top that wrapped around his neck at the top, pushing his chest in and up. His bangs were pulled back in a messy sort of way. He was applying sunscreen.

  “You’re putting on sunscreen,” Mingyu said, standing in the hallway in his bloody t-shirt and suit pants.

  Wonwoo shrugged. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. I figure I’ll get more out of the guests if I blended in. As opposed to dressing like whatever you’re supposed to be.”