Me:
Married. Need a full background on Sabrina Kensington.
The typing dots appear almost instantly.
John:
Married? Jesus, man. You should’ve asked for this before you signed your life away.
Me:
Just get it done.
John:
You’ll have it in a couple days. Congrats, by the way. Try not to screw it up.
I lock the screen and scrub a hand over my jaw. A couple days. Fine. I can wait. But not knowing is eating me alive.
Finally, I swipe to the group chat. The one with the guys.
Coleman. Dean. Nathan. Harvey.
The bastards are probably still awake, waiting for me to break.
The chat is already active when I open it.
Dean:
Still laughing about the way you dragged your wife out of the Reserve like some scene out of a mob movie.
Harvey:
Yeah, damn, Blackwell. “Don’t touch my fucking wife”? Whole place froze. Savage.
Coleman:
You realize she had half the bar staring, right? Red hair blazing, eyes shooting fire, ready to cut a man in half. You two together? Terrifying.
Dean:
Hot, though. Terrifying, but hot.
I scrub a hand down my face, half-smiling despite myself.
Me:
She didn’t belong anywhere near that asshole.
Harvey:
Pretty sure everyone figured that out the second you stormed across the floor.
Coleman:
So… how’s married life treating you?
Me:
