“Wow, Saint. Don’t hold back.”
“You want shit coated in sugar, I’m not the guy.”
“Clearly.”
“You can take it.”
“I’ll only take so much,” I warned him.
“Trust me. I’ve seen your handiwork,” he said, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.
“Are you done?” I asked, glancing over to look at Colter, still walking on the path as he talked to Slash.
“This is the part where, if you were a man, I’d threaten to kick your ass if you fuck up.”
“And you’re way too moral to hit a woman,” I drawled.
Again, he ignored me and my sarcastic tone.
“So instead, this is where I remind you that man has already been fucked over by a woman who didn’t know what she had.And he doesn’t deserve to have another one dick him over again. All good?” he asked, changing his tone as Colter walked up and handed him the phone.
“Yep.”
“Alright, meet you two back at the hotel,” Saint said, walking off.
“What happened?” Colter asked.
Damn him.
He read me too well.
“Nothing.”
“You don’t have to tell me, but don’t lie to me, alright?” Colter said.
I glanced at Saint’s retreating form, his words rolling around my head. Before I could stop them, mine tumbled out.
“Saint just had some things to say about us. Well, about me, I guess.”
“He what?” Colter asked, posture stiffening. “What’d he say?”
“It’s not—”
“What’d he say, Dylan?”
Alarm bells were going off in my ears. But something about Colter right then said that he wasn’t going to give up until he got an answer.
“He just wanted to make sure I’m not dicking you around.” It was the nicest way I could think to explain our conversation.
“Did he?” Colter asked, jaw going granite.
Then he turned and stormed away, following Saint’s retreating form.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed, jumping off the table and running after him.
But before I could catch up with Colter’s much longer-legged pace, he was right behind Saint and shoving the other man hard enough to nearly knock Saint off his feet.
“The fuck—” Saint started, catching himself and whipping around.
