Clearly, she didn’t get the Skyla-and-Gage-are-just-friends memo.
I inch back. “Wait, are you interested?”
What’s this? Another light driving curveball?
“Heck no.” She makes a face. “I’ve got your stepbrother on my mind and in my pants.” She gives a hearty wink.
“At least you’re consistent.” I don’t dare ask what happened to the biker felon. “So who’s lining up for my sloppy seconds?”
“Chloe.”
“Oh, she’s consistent, too. And spoiler alert: I know exactly which Oliver she’s hoping I’ll toss her way.” Not that I have to do any tossing. Apparently, Gage is volunteering for the effort. “The fact that she marries him still gets under my skin.”
She gasps so hard I think she sucked up every Solo cup in the vicinity.
“I am so telling Chloe that!”
I groan hard. The last thing I meant to do was motivate Chloe. I’d say that explains a lot, but then she never needed me to prod her outright obsession with my future husband.
“Bree, wait—” I start, but she’s already bouncing to her feet with the kind of manic energy that assures me I just lit a fuse I can’t put out.
“This is going to be so good,” she calls back as she heads toward the house. “Thanks for the intel! This is definitely worth more than the usual rate!”
That’s right. Brielle was on Chloe’s payroll as far as extracting dirt from me went. And she wonders why I have Laken on standby as a second bestie.
I watch as my so-called best friend trots off to share information that’s about to make my life suck infinitely more.
A flicker of a couple traipsing by catches my attention, and my eyes widen when I realize just who that couple is.
Chloe has somehow managed to lure Gage away from the crowd, and they’re standing together under the massive oak tree at the far end of the yard. Even through the fog, I can see her wrapping her arms around his neck with the kind of possessive confidence that makes me want to commit federal crimes.
At least Bree hasn’t shared the good news yet. I rise from the lawn and pause for a moment, contemplating how best to approach my first intentional homicide.
Gage spots me as his eyes find mine across the distance, and there’s something almost defiant in his expression as he deliberately turns away and lets Chloe start nibbling on his neck as if he were a tall stack of pancakes and she was bringing the syrup.
The betrayal hits me in the gut, sharp, immediate, and devastating. I know he’s only doing this to hurt me, to prove some point about how much I hurt him with Logan, but knowing that doesn’t make it any less effective.
Tears blur my vision as I push through the crowd. I need to get out of here before I do something spectacular and embarrassing, like march over there and rip Chloe’s perfectly styled hair out by the roots, right before I commit the aforementioned homicide.
Instead, I run.
I sprint across the street to Marshall’s mansion as if my life depends on it, my heels clicking against the pavement as tears stream down my face. The front door is unlocked, and I burst through into what can only be described as a historical reenactment ofGirls Gone Wild.
The ghostly piano is playing like mad, keys dancing in a frenzied melody that matches the chaos of the scene. Marshall’s seventeenth-century sluts are everywhere. Their colorful satin gowns and elaborate ringlets make the whole place look like a time portal gone awry.
They’re laughing and drinking and generally carrying on as if they belong here, which they probably do by now, seeing that Marshall is turning this into a weekly event.
And in the center of it all stands the King of Coitus, the Sultanof Seduction, surrounded by a circle of women who are pawing at him as if he’s some kind of supernatural prize—which, face it, he totally is.
His hair is slightly mussed, his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to be dangerous, and he’s got that look on his face that suggests he’s enjoying every delicious minute of the attention.
Sorry, Marshall, but not tonight.
Tonight,Ineed your attention because I need answers, and I’m done being patient about getting them.
I march straight through the crowd of historical harlots, grab Marshall by the front of his shirt—plant my lips over his hard—and kiss him with enough force to make my ancestors feel it.
The vision hits immediately.
