Page 80 of Shark’s Pride

He swore again, beneath his breath. Aloud, he said, “This sounds like a bad B-movie plot.”

“Right?” I returned. “Abbi and I went on a date night—”

“Okay, now you’re really making things up.”

I narrowed my gaze but only a little. “If you want to talk bad movie plots, we can discuss that whole disaster later.”

“Oh, and we will,” he promised, chuckling.

“Anyway, when we came home, we thought we’d go out back and check on Tawny. Neither one of us had seen her in a couple days. And, I’m not joking, the entire pool was bubbling like a Jacuzzi.”

“Uh…I think I’ve heard enough.” He clutched his midsection. “Just picturing that is giving me stomach cramps.”

“The crappier part of it was the noise,” I admitted. “I think it’s going to haunt me for a long time.” I kicked at the nap of the carpet. “I had to have the pool drained and sanitized. Since the debris was human remains, the county is insisting on the health department doing an inspection or some bullshit before I can fill it back up.”

He snorted into his cup. “Pia’s never going to let Vela in that pool again; you realize that, right?”

“I thought the same thing.” I grimaced. “I haven’t told her about the whole mess yet, but she’s surprised me with crazier decisions, so never say never.”

“I will be completely shocked if she does, but you know her best.” While issuing that diplomacy, the guy cruised over to his usual spot on the black leather sofa. When he sank down low on the seat, making all the usual sounds preceding his typical attempt at kicking up his feet, I let a growl gurgle up my throat.

Just before his foot hit the table, I warned, “Don’t put your feet on the table.” I swore under my breath as I sat down opposite him.

“Jesus Christ. Do you nag Abbigail like this?” He shook his head and rearranged his long legs.

“No. First of all, she doesn’t act like a barbarian. Secondly, she can do whatever she wants.” I grinned, knowing I was opening a Pandora’s box of “pussy whipped” comments, but it was the perfect segue to what I really needed to discuss right now.

“Is your tailor really busy right now?” Grant asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“My tailor?” Confused, I grimaced and said with annoyance, “I have no idea. Ask the psycho who sits at the desk out front for his number and call him. Why are you asking?”

“Well, I figure without your balls, all your pants are having to be altered. That would keep him pretty busy for a while, yeah?”

“Ohhh, I see.” I feigned discovery while Grant snickered at his own joke. “That was your lame attempt at witticism. Shit, Twombley. Your game is way off. You’ve been living in luxury too long. When we were street urchins, you could spar much better than that.” I shook my head and chuckled. “Really, man. That sucked.”

“Apparently so does she, and quite well. You wouldn’t be this far gone otherwise. Can’t say I’ve ever seen you like this, Bas.”

I lurched forward on the sofa cushion. Screw that. I surged to my feet and loomed over the bastard, pointing right in his face. “You don’t get to say shit like that about her. Ever. Am I clear?” I stabbed my finger farther in, uncaring that his eyes were practically crossing. “One hundred percent off-limits.” I waited for his gape to raise back up. I kept my stare leveled to his for a few beats and then backed off. Though I sat back down, I didn’t relent the pin of my scowl.

“All right, killer. Settle down. I was joking.” Grant lifted his mug to his lips with a smirk. “Shit, Sebastian.” Using my full name was his unwritten code for an apology. After the better part of a tense minute, he finally muttered, “Dude. You’ve got it worse than I thought.”

I sent back half a smile. Unknowingly, the guy had given me an opening to drop the most significant mortar in my bomb bay.

“I’m in love with her.”

From Grant, a slow swallow. Then the steady flow of his hands, lowering his porcelain cup to the tabletop.

Well, damn it.

Where was the drama I’d hoped for?

Instead, my lifelong best friend honored me with a smartass slow clap, a wide grin breaking out across his face. “Welcome to the party, bonehead. Glad you could join us. You’re the guest of honor but the last one to show up! I swear to God, Bas. It’s like everyone around you knew you loved that woman weeks ago—everyone but you.”

I wanted to glare; I really did. Every instinct told me to scowl and stomp and insist he was acting like an asshole. But I couldn’t muster the expression or the behavior. It wasn’t authentic, and I’d just showed my hand, so why bother with the grandstanding?

“I’m so out of my comfort zone with all of this.” I made a wild hand gesture, encompassing the entire notion of being in love. What did my profession mean, when all was said and done? What did it change?

“Any of us would be, man. And that has to be okay. Because you don’t have a choice about any of it. Fate has you by the balls now. You just have to roll with it.”