I cough on a laugh, patting his shoulder. "I don't know where the hell you get that sense of humor, but it's quick and unexpected."
Hugo stiffens under my hand. We both know his sense of humor came from his father.
"You know we have to go over there, right?" Hugo nods in the direction of the table at the back of the room. Vivi stares Hugo down, giving him a wide-eyed look paired with cinched eyebrows, likewhat the fuck are you still doing across the room?
"You'd better play nice," Hugo warns, starting over. I fall into step beside him, my hands going into my pockets.
"I'm always nice."
Hugo eyes me. "I know Duke was shitty to you before, but his dad was an asshole back then, and he's still a piece of work." He tips his head toward me, quietly saying, "It's not an excuse, just a reason."
I happen to remember far more about Duke's dad than I care to.
My eyes meet Daisy's. Now that I know about her mom, I can't stop seeing the heaviness Daisy carries. It makes me even more determined to insist she be herself around me. She's devastated, living with a broken heart, and trying like hell to be everybody's golden girl. To meet their expectations.
Her lips curl into a smile, and I feel mine unconsciously doing the same in response. She looks so damn pretty in the sage green shirt. It's overlaid in lace, and I don't know what the top with all the rigid lining is called, but it's pushing her breasts up, accentuating how round they are. I want to bury my face there, biting and licking and sucking, and possibly suffocating but dying with a smile. I want to know every part of her now, who she is, what she likes, her regrets, her triumphs, the foods she hates and the ones she cannot get enough of. I want to immerse myself in her.
But, no. I'm in a prison of my own making, shackled by manacles I designed.
Duke's dumb head with his perfect hair weaves into my line of sight. Of all the places we could have gone tonight, we wound up here (my fault, I'll admit), preparing to make chitchat with someone I would most definitely piss on if he were on fire, but then I'd walk away immediately after.
He stands as we approach, straightening his shoulders and bringing himself to full height, while also making sure we know this is his territory.Daisyis his.
I hate this guy. I hate him so fucking much. He is nearly the same height as me and Hugo, but he is dressed for the occasion in navy blue slacks, and a white button-up collared shirt. The fabric of the shirt looks expensive, some kind of thick weave. I have the oddest and most intrusive memory of his asshole father telling him one of the most important pieces in a man's wardrobe is a good, white shirt. His dad threw away a handful of Duke's favorite shirts after that, and me, as thecleaning boyas Duke liked to call me, found them in the trash. I already hated Duke by then, but that didn't keep me from feeling bad for him, especially because I heard him crying from behind his closed bedroom door. Shirts in hand, I opened up his door, tossed theminside without looking, and slammed it closed. The next week when I was cleaning Duke's room, the shirts were in his trash.
Why the fuck did my brain decide to serve me that useless and unnecessary memory? The last thing I want to remember is standing in Duke's monstrous house, doing my mother's job because she was unable to get off our couch and go to work.
"Hugo," Duke booms, a wide, white-toothed smile breaking across his face. He leans in for a bro hug back slap, wrapping up my best friend. "Missed ya, man." He pulls aways, but keeps an arm on Hugo's shoulder. "Sorry I had to skip our last meeting. I won't miss the next one. I blocked it off on the work calendar."
Um. What?
"No worries," Hugo replies. "It was mostly more discussion around The Iliad, and what motivated the heroes to fight."
Duke grins, pleasant and good-natured. "Let me guess, Ambrose went into detail about Hector versus Achilles?"
What in the actual fuck is happening here?
Hugo does a head shake half eye roll thing that leaves me even more perplexed. "Of course he did. He's obsessed with how they presented themselves as warriors."
Vivi interrupts by smacking her brother on the arm. "You didn't tell me Ambrose was in town."
"He joined on FaceTime." Hugo shifts his focus back to Duke. "Duke, I don't think you've met Peter yet. He's"—Hugo glances at me—"a friend of a friend." I wonder if anybody else picks up on the hardness in his tone, the irritation simmering below the surface.
I welcome Hugo's irritation right now, because I have some of my own to direct his way. Is he really friends with Duke?
"Peter," Duke extends a hand. "Good to meet you."
I have to shake his hand or else I'll look like an asshole. So I do what is expected of me, shaking his outstretched hand andtelling himlikewisewhen what I really mean isfuck you very much.
"Have you already met the ladies?" Duke asks, gesturing to the two women sitting across from him.
"Peter is one of my physical therapy clients," Daisy says, and I drag my gaze to her for the first time since we arrived at their table. Not only was I trying to keep from having a meltdown over how fucking beautiful she looks tonight, but I was thrown sideways by my best friend cheating on me with a human paper towel.
"That's right," I nod, tucking away observations about Daisy's appearance as fast as I can before I reach the point of staring, and it becomes awkward.
Her lips, already so plump and perfect, are outlined and shaded in a pink that gives her a deeper pout. Her eyelashes are thick, and darker than usual. And though the lighting in here is shit, her cheeks are flushed. Is that from makeup, or our current situation?
"I haven't formally met you, Peter, but I have hearda lotabout you." Vivi puts emphasis on the wordsa lot, making it plain she has information on me. Knowledge. What has Hugo told her? He made it clear to me before I came back that although he didn't approve of my decision not to reveal who I really am, he would keep his trap shut for me. I can't imagine Hugo going back on his promise, so that leaves…Daisy.And my slip today. Already coming back to bite me in the ass.
