“Nope. I’m off gossip.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
I fake gasp. “Mr. Blunderman. Areyoutaking up my previous occupation? I love it. Tell me what else you’ve heard.”
“Nope. You’re off gossip. Bones might be creaky, but my ears still work.”
I miss half of what he says.
Not because I don’t want to listen to him, but because every time Grey says something to Isabella next to me, his voice rumbles in my ears over everything else.
Get a grip, Sabrina.
You don’t do this.
Men are dicks. They don’t make ’em like Grandpa Harry anymore. Look at what Laney’s father did. Look what your own father did. Look at what Chandler did. Even Theo’s a dick, but at least he’s a known dick, and he knows I’ll cut off his dick if he pulls a dick move on Laney now.
I’m not a man-hater.
I’m just so fucking wary after everything I’ve seen over the years. The couples who make it, who truly adore and respect and accept each other every day of their lives? They’re so rare.
I’d rather be alone with my dog and tight with my besties.
And when they have kids, I’ll be the best damn Aunt Sabrina to ever exist.
Theyaremy family.
And three minutes goes by entirely too fast while I’m desperately trying to convince myself that I’m still anti-relationship and that I don’t want anything to do with this wounded, vulnerable, sometimes dorky, always hot man at the next table.
My stomach tightens. My pulse flutters. My fingers tense. And all too soon, I’m wishing Mr. Blunderman a great time tonight while he pushes out of his chair and heads to the next row.
Grey drops into the seat and hits me with a glare that tells me every last second of the next three minutes will feel like an eternity.
It’s time to face the music.
29
Grey
Sabrina Sullivan has fuckingaudacity.
She has the nerve tosmileat me as I take the seat across from her at this horrific singles mixer, which is the last place on earth I want to be right now. But Zen and Mimi conspired against me, and now here I am.
And with fuckingChandler Sullivansitting just a few tables down too, thinking he has the upper handagainbecause I didn’t fight against his pricktastic attitude last week.
“Grey! Long time no see.” Sabrina flips a plastic cup off the stack in front of her, fills it with water from the carafe that’s been placed on every table, and pushes it to me. “Drink. You look dehydrated. How’s your grandmother liking town?”
“You fucking called my grandmother,” I hiss.
She lifts both brows, copper like her hair, which is curlier tonight. A single strand has fallen out and lays across her breast, a wave catching the light every time she moves and making me want to go complete caveman, shoving across this table and kissing her until she apologizes.
“I know everyone’s grandmother in town,” she says. “Or I did, if they’re not still with us. I just wanted her to know how much the community appreciates that you saved my family from having all of our credit ruined for overdue taxes, no matter what you do next with the building.”
I don’t know what makes me more furious.
That she did it, or that she’s pretending she did it for any reason other than totattle on a grown fucking man to his grandmother.
When she said she was playing dirty, I didn’t expect her to gothisdirty.
