Page 95 of All Tied Down

“I can’t imagine Roan and Colt fighting,” I admit, hooking my arm through Garrett’s as we continue through the row of auction pieces.

“It was more of a spirited debate of whether or not the cows can see with the hair covering their eyes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” His lips twitch and I snort out a laugh trying to imagine Roan with his fancy law degree engaged in that debauchery. “It escalated, and one thing led to another, resulting in them crashing down onto the table.”

“I feel like you should tell that story more,” I muse as we make our way to one of the high-top tables off to the side. The cream tablecloth is layered with a smaller gold one, and we’ve stopped for no more than a minute when a waiter lingers with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

Garrett takes a bacon-covered scallop, but I almost never eat at these things.

And he already promised me we could get pizza on the way home.

I hope Tom doesn’t mind.

“Fuck,” Garrett growls under his breath, his eyes focused on something across the room, and it doesn’t take much to realize who he’s looking at. Steeling myself for the inevitable confrontation, I straighten my spine and watch as Darren walks toward us with a willowy blonde on his arm.

“That’s her?” I ask, honestly shocked because we couldn’t be more different.

“Yes.”

“That’s your type, Rockstar?”

“My wife is my type,” he fires back, heat in his gaze as his eyes drop to my lips.

“Do you still have feelings for her?” I ask, as his hand slides around my waist and he pulls me close, those dark brown pools seeming to swallow me up in this moment.

“None.”

His answer is fierce, leaving no room for doubt. Not that I had any to begin with, but a jealous part of me wanted to hear it because Heather and I are nothing alike. And while I’m very sure of myself, I wanted to hear him say that he can only see me.

And he did.

“My wife is my type.”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the newlyweds,” Darren grunts, sidling up to the cocktail table with a sneer. “Do they still call you newlyweds five months in?” His brown hair is slicked back and his suit is wrinkled either from engaging in extracurricular activities or because he’s lazy and doesn’t care about making a good impression.

I’m surprised they even let him in, but more than that, I just want to get this over with, for my sake and for Garrett. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jace walking slowly to where Ozzy is already stationed directly in my line of sight about twenty feet away.

Show time.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask sweetly, tilting my head to the side slightly as I stare at him, his face reddening the longer I stay silent.

“Is she fucking joking?” Darren bites out, disdain clear in his tone as Heather looks between us, her plain black dress at least one size too small if the way her boobs are practically falling out is any indication.

“I told you she got that girl fired—” Heather starts, but I cut her off.

“I didn’t get that girl fired,” I say slowly. “I fired her. Because I don’t tolerate wannabe groupies moonlighting as influencers. And loyalty is important, wouldn’t you say?” This last part is directed at Darren, who looks like he wants to flip the table.

“I can’t believe you married this bitch⁠—”

“Don’t fucking talk to my wife, you piece of shit,” Garrett snarls, and I place my hand on his chest to keep him from lunging at his former bandmate. This is merely a friendly conversation compared to the things men have spat at me through the years.

My skin is thick, but my forgiveness is merely a thread.

And besides, it’s only a matter of time before Darren and Heather are escorted out of here, so I need to get my shots in while I can.

“Do you feel better?” I bat my eyelashes at Darren, as Heather’s mouth falls open. “That attitude certainly didn’t help your career, did it?”