“I know that.” Avery dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’m trying to make a point.”
“Everyone else is, too.” Linc snagged Gage’s beer from the middle of the table.
Bryce sat forward to hiss, “But you’re not fucking listening.”
“Maverick and his goth girl are friends.” Thank fuck for Gage, even if he was lagging behind the conversation. “They even work together.”
Linc chuckled. “My point exactly.”
“What he said.” Avery jabbed a finger at Gage. Fuck, Avery was so confused, he was talking in circles, didn’t know what he was agreeing with or arguing against, but if he could get the focus off himself and onto someone else—Maverick—he didn’t care if he made sense.
Maverick shot daggers at Linc, as if daring him to speculate on his relationship with Goth-Not-Goth Girl.
Linc snorted and turned his attention back to Avery. “Just remember, fuck a girl once, and she wants a conversation. Fuck her twice, and she’s planning a wedding.”
“I’m not fucking her,” Avery countered too quickly and a little too loudly.
“But you will.” Linc reminded Avery of Nick. Bitter. Negative. “I know you.”
“Facts,” Gage said, nodding.
“Why not?” Blaze asked Avery. “Is she ugly? ’Cause no one’s gonna buy that shit, especially your mom.”
“Oh my god, can we talk about something else?” Avery slumped deeper in his chair. “If not, I’m out.”
A collective chuckle rolled over his frayed nerves, but Dane turned the topic to their annual Sigma trip—Greece this year—which marked the end of his agreement with Legs.
Avery breathed a sigh of relief, but it didn’t last long as his wall of self-defense lowered and their warnings finally seeped past his pride. What if they were right?
Of course, they were. If Legs gave him the slightest hint she’d changed her mind, he’d fuck her in a heartbeat. But he thought of the defiance etched on her face and the disgust lacing every word as she laid out her rules. Nah, he was safe.
Blaze leaned over until his shoulder butted Avery’s and whispered conspiratorially, “Still a good plan…and you can always do her from behind.”
A vision of Legs on all fours blasted his tired brain. Naked except for those black stilettos. Ass in the air. Dark red hair wrapped around his fist as he yanked her head back. Her pussy choking on his dick like a velvet glove, one size too small. And her tits jiggling as he rammed into her. Hard. Fast. Until she cried out his name and he filled her with cum.
Aww, man, I’m fucked.
****
“How about this one?” A mischievous twinkle lit Brooke’s eyes as she held a hanger to her chest, showing off a tangerine wrap-waist gown that cascaded over her slender frame.
Cramming yet another not-good-enough dress back onto the overstuffed rack, Jo smiled, but the humor that tried to surface fizzled out. Waffles from their brunch churned in her stomach. This was the fourth consignment shop they’d been to, and so far, their shopping spree was a bust.
“Face it,” Brooke said, sighing, “you can’t shop bargain basement when you’re boyfriend’s a billionaire.”
“Not funny, and not my boyfriend.” Jo pursed her lips and studied the velvet sleeve of a maybe. Nope, the seam at the shoulder was frayed.
“I’m just saying, if you’re going to be his eye candy, you can’t look like week-old buchta. You have to be”—she twirled her hands at the wrists for flair—“pastillage.”
“You don’t even know what pastillage is.”
“You think I wasn’t paying attention when you binge-watched fifty-two videos on how to manipulate sugar for a cake topper? And then you spent every waking hour of a good month and a week’s salary on sugar to create a perfect swan for the Dalton wedding, only for Giselle to take credit for it.”
“Okay, okay, so you know what pastillage is. I just don’t know if I can be that.”
“You already are. You just need a little frosting. Think of the clientele you’re trying to attract.”
“I can’t afford that kind of frosting. Besides, there’s no frosting on pastillage.”
