I stopped and turned to face the Corgi-loving woman. “How can I help you?”
She blushed.
For fuck’s sake.
“Today, Layla.”
“Would it be all right for me to call you? I had a great time with your family, and I’d like to get to know you better.”
“No, thank you.”
Her smile slid into a disappointed frown.
“Anything else?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Then have a good evening.”
I climbed into my truck without a hint of remorse. It was my meddling family’s fault that Layla’s feelings were hurt.
I’d barely pulled out of the parking lot when I received a text.
Do Not Answer:You did not have to make her cry.
Do Not Answer:Mom and Dad are not happy about how you mistreated her. A simple “It was nice meeting you, but no thank you” would’ve sufficed.
Grant:Maybe my wife shouldn’t try hooking me up with other women.
Do Not Answer:She was beside herself. I told her that I suspected you were gay just to get her to stop crying.
I smirked.
Me:You have an hour to get to our home, or I’ll show up at Mom and Dad’s place and spill the beans about where you run off to late at night when you come home.
Do Not Answer:You’re diabolical.
Me:What’s the matter, Ki? You don’t want Mom and Dad to know how you come crawling home to get rage fucked by your stepbrother?
Do Not Answer:Technically, you’re not my stepbrother.
Me:That’s right. I’m your fucking husband.
Do Not Answer:No reminder is needed. I’ll see you in two hours, Granny.
My hand clenched around the phone, and the urge to hurl it out the window appeared but vanished as I thought about how I planned on edging the fuck out of Kiyah.
Kiyah
Grant:You’re late.
Me:I’m not. I told you I’d be there in two hours, and I still have five minutes to get there.
I watched anxiously as the gray bubbles on the bottom of the screen bounced up and down as I waited for his response.
Grant:Use your key.
“What’s the code?” my Uber driver asked.
