He even imitates Shania’s high-pitchedwhoos at the end.
That fucking mother-fucking-fucker.
When he descends the stage, he’s followed by a sea of women—and one man—acting like cats in heat as he strides to the high-top. I’m shoved out of the way by a cougar, but Ezra steps around her to get to me. “Sorry, ladies, but I’m here with my wife.” He flashes them his wedding ring, and I swear their groans of disappointment are louder than their screams.
“Is your shirt unbuttoned?” I ask as his little fan club disperses.
“Oops, don’t know how that happened.” With a laugh, he does up the bottom few.
“So…” He pulls me in by my waist, holding me against him. “How was I?”
I scowl.
“That good, huh?”
“I cannot believe you.” With a groan, I pick up the vodka soda our server sets on the high-top. She’s thin and leggy and zipped from toe to tits in tight black leather. Her hair is cropped a lot like Sam’s was when we dated. She places an arm on Ezra’s bicep, the move sending a zap of jealousy through me. At the same time, though, she’s also ogling my boobs. That’s when I notice a rainbow sticker on her name tag next to a pin that readsshe/they. Is she flirting with us both? Would I be into that?Would Ezra? I’ve only ever had one threesome. But for years, I’ve had to fight like hell to convince people that not all bisexuals are nonmonogamous, despite the stereotype.
In my tipsy state, though, my judgment is a tad clouded. I can’t tell whether Ezra is flirting or being friendly. Sometimes they look the same. The server writes her name and number on a cocktail napkin and winks at the both of us before turning to leave.
“Would you ever have a threesome?” I blurt over the rim of my drink.
“Amelia.” He takes my glass and sets it on the table. “Shh, not so loud.”
“What? She seemed interested.” I shrug.
He holds me hostage in his gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, before I know what’s happening, he drags me by my waist and pins me between him and the high-top, pressing me in so firmly the wood digs into my spine. “I will only say this once.” His breath, laced with whiskey and orange, is hot against my ear. “I do not share my women.” He slides a hand under the hem of my crop top and digs his nails into the skin of my back. “If I’m with you, I’m withonly you. Got it?”
I’m pretty sure my responding gulp can be heard all the way to Maui. Does he meanyouas inme? Oryouas inwomen in general?
Either way, I nod.
“Good.” He pushes off me, but not before I feel the bulge in his shorts.
After one more drink, Ezra cuts me off. He’s nursing an old-fashioned, the spicy citrus scent of which brings me back to the night we shared in Greece. I was so riled up about his surprisingly stellar karaoke performance that evening. I never expected him to win the crowd over when he sang “Under Pressure” by David Bowie and Queen. But he did. One thing led to another, and I found myself riding his hand in a storage closet, followed by a night that should have been hot but turned out to be a flop.
I was itching to try out the vibrator I’d purchased from a vending machine in Crete’s city center. After stealing batteries from the hotel’s TV remote, we put that bad boy to good use. But when I went to return the favor, Ezra stopped me.
“You’ve been drinking,” he said.
“So?” I argued. “If I’m sober enough to have an orgasm, I’m sober enough to give you one.”
“That’s not how it works.”
I guess he was right about thenotsober part because the details are fuzzy after that. The next morning, Joey and Cam walked in on us buck naked in bed together. Ezra tried patching things up the next day, but it was too late—my ego had already been bruised, and I dismissed him.
I’d like to think I’ve matured since then, though. I’m done writing him off.
23
Millie
“HA.”I stick my tongue out at Ezra in the bathroom mirror. “I told you I wouldn’t have a hangover.”
“That’s because I cut you off and forced carbs and two ibuprofen down your throat before bed.”
“Always looking out for me, Daddy,” I tease.
He drops his deodorant in the sink, blinking rapidly.
