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“Please tell me everyone calls him Cocksucker.”
“Riggs!” She stood up, wanting to be horrified by my words, but—I noticed—biting down on a smile. Shelikedthat I was making fun of him. Why shouldn’t she? Asshole probably fucked up her plans of marriage, babies, and all the other boring stuff and made a run for it.
“So, I guess you met in college? How long ago was that?” It would be nice to know my future wife’s age. “Three, four years?”
“Almost eight years,” she corrected. “I’m twenty-six; he is twenty-seven.”
Riggs Jr. sighed in relief in my Dickies. She was young, but not so young that it was terrible for me to beat one off to her mental image. Touching her, however, was firmly out of the question.
“Wait, you were with Cocksucker for seven years and you didn’t even live together?” I spluttered my milk tea. More because it was terrible than because of shock.
“First of all, stop calling him that. Second, his family is quite conservative.”
“Were you two having sex?”
“How is that any of your business?” She was tiny and furious, like Tinker Bell. Just like with Tinker Bell, I’d have loved to smack her ass and watch her fairy dust fall.
“So you did. Nice setup, Cocksucker. Guess he’s happy to please his family by delegitimizing your relationship and keeping you out of his apartment, just as long as he doesn’t need to keep his dick in his pants.”
“This conversation is over,” she declared. “I’m going to fetch your linen and a towel in case you’d like to shower. Which, by the way, is advisable. You smell like a subway urinal.”
I laughed so hard I thought I was going to explode, then tripped over the couch while sitting down.
This was going to be fun.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DUFFY
The day after Riggs and I had booked our wedding was remarkably dreadful, even by my poor standards. The only ray of sunshine was that my neighbor Charlie was kind enough to leave me my favorite Starbucks order and a pastry at my door in the morning, accompanied by a scribbled-on napkin.
Saw a strange man entering your apartment yesterday. Just making sure you’re good, Angel.
I wasn’t good. I was the opposite of good. I couldn’t wait for the next time he and I went down the pub so I could unload. Charlie was a fab listener.
At work, Gretchen was an absolute nightmare, moaning and whining about everything under the sun (including, ironically, the sun itself; apparently, she’d been worried about dark spots ever since she’d started her retinol treatment).
I wondered if she was privy to my arrangement with Riggs. Not that breaking the news to her was high on my to-do list. I had bigger fish to fry. Like telling Mum, Tim, and Kieran I was tying the knot. And possibly slipping my neck into a noose in the process.
Don’t forget about BJ.Though, bitterly, there was no denying he’d forgotten about me.
Speaking of my traitorous ex-boyfriend, he called earlier today to ask if I could give him a lift to the airport. For a reason he refused to share, he had deplorable ratings on both Uber and Lyft.
“I refuse to be defined by cold ratings on a stupid app,” he had once told me when we discussed his aversion for the app.“I know my worth.”That worth, apparently, was less than a hundred bucks, which was the fare most cab companies asked for a trip to JFK, and BJ refused to pay.
The very idea of driving him anywhere was audacious. Especially as he’d used our time together at the Renaissance fair last night complaining about his mum wanting to sell his Range Rover while he was abroad. She’d promised to buy him a newer model once he was back, but BJ argued there was a backlog due to supply issues, and that public transportation gave him a rash.
Yes, I knew he was a rich prat. Frankly, that was his entire appeal. His ability to promise me a life full of security, lavish vacations, and beautiful houses.
Though stabbing him in the eye with my plastic sword had been my preferred response to his whinging, I’d chosen to remind myself that Kate and Wills had also split before the prince realized she was his one true love. Was Kate bitter about it? No. Did she throw a fit? Also no. That’s right. She kept it classy. And look at her now. A princess.
Which was how I found myself reassuring him that giving him a ride was no problem at all.
“When shall I pick you up?” I asked as I maneuvered my way among sweaty tourists and Instagram influencers who thought it was appropriate to walk the street in a bikini.
“Seven’s fine. I’m going for drinks with Dan beforehand,” I heard BJ say on the other side of the line.
I took a tiny bit of pleasure in how Riggs had referred to him as an indulgent Western idiot yesterday. My future husband seemed well traveled enough to recognize an eejit when he saw one.
