Fuck it.
I grab the heavy-ass stapler and hurl it across the office at him, getting immense pleasure when he doesn’t fully dodge it, and it hits my brother in the shoulder.
“Ow! Fuck!” He jerks away and puts his hand over the spot like he’s dying.
“Get the fuck out of my office.” I turn back to the spreadsheet I’ve been staring at for the past two hours.
“Wow. For a guy who for sure was getting fucked last night, unless you did something stupid to piss her off, you’re in a really shitty mood. What’s wrong? Oh, no, was she a Domme or something? She try to do some freaky shit with you that you didn’t like?” Beckett shrugs. “If you ask me, you should try everything once because you never know.”
The headache that has been settled in my temples since I first got up throbs harder. Staring at Beckett, I keep chanting in my head that I can’t shoot him. That is definitely a limit. But damn… it’s tempting.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Did Mom shake you when you were a baby?”
Beckett barks out laughter, then sits in one of the guest armchairs and makes himself comfortable.
Jesus Christ.
I don’t want to deal with this asshole today.
Why did Beckett choose now, of all days, to come and fuck with me?
“Probably,” he finally says. “Anyway, come on. Let’s fucking go.”
Squinting at him, I lean back and tip my head up. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Dinner. Jordyn and Quinn planned it for your birthday. Remember?”
Closing my eyes, I try to catch up to whatever my brother is saying, but I’m drawing a blank. Like I’ve been doing ever since I woke up to find Ace gone.
“Kian,” Beckett snaps. “What the fuck is going on with you, bro? Did that girl drug you? Or are you having some sort of reaction to all the glitter she exploded on you?”
For fuck’s sake.
I don’t know who invented that shit, but they should be sued. And then shot. And then buried out in our desert, where I cango piss on their grave for the rest of my life because I’m pretty fucking sure that’s how long it’s going to take for me to get it all off me.
Even if I wanted to meet another woman, it would be fucking impossible, considering they’d take one look at me and tell me to fuck off. No woman wants to fuck a man with another woman’s glitter all over him.
Shaking my head, I press my fingers into my temples. Fuck, I need some pain reliever.
“Dude, can you just shut the fuck up and give me a straight answer for a second?” I snap. “My birthday was yesterday. We all went out to the club.”
Beckett stares at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yes. And last week, when we did family dinner, the girls planned a family birthday dinner for you tonight because we said we were forcing you to go out for your birthday. You agreed to it.”
Shit.
I did.
That was when I wasn’t in a foul-ass mood.
“Cash and Xander will literally murder you if you don’t show up, so get that look off your face.” Beckett rises and straightens his suit jacket. “Come on. We can ride together so you can tell me all about your sexscapades with that knockout I saw you eye-fucking on the dance floor last night. We should probably stop by your place so you can shower and wash all that shit off. Don’t get me wrong, bro, you look fabulous with all that glitter, but it’s not really your style.”
I look around my desk for something else to throw and grab my empty coffee mug from when I first got here today.
“Call her a knockout again, and I willknockoutevery one of your pretty white teeth.”
Without hesitation, I chuck the ceramic mug at him, and this time, Beckett catches it before it crashes to the ground. Then he bows as he sets it on an end table, and for the first time all day, I chuckle.
God, he’s so fucking annoying.
