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“Tyler,” Mum says, interrupting my mental annihilation of my ex, bringing my head back to the dinner table. “Rise above her and be with your family.”
I look at my mum, at her dignity amidst her sadness. I lost my father and my pride when my gold-digger wife left me. But my mum lost her best friend, her soulmate, her love, her person to grow old with. And yet, here she is still trying to pull my head out of my arse for our family. My shoulders drop. She’s right. I need to stop allowing Annabella any more head space. “Fine,” I relent. And then I remember the beautiful words, “plus-one.” That’s the perfect kind of ammo. One last moment of fuck you to the bitch.
“Good boy.” Mum smiles, satisfied. “Now, let’s order.” Her nose goes back into the menu while I flick through the many gorgeous and very willing women who’ve featured in my life since the bitch left me. I need one who will bruise her stinking ego. A beauty. A babe. An absolute, dazzling, shimmering, beautiful goddess. And for added punch, let’s make her smart. Intellectual. Intelligent. Beauty and brains. I smile cunningly.MY EYES PROGRESSIVELY WIDEN AS I watch Sal neck his first beer before gasping and slamming the empty down on the bar. “I think he’ll have another,” I say to the barman, who’s equally bemused by the sight.
“Ohhhh, that was good.” Sal wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s been a long fucking day.”
“A long day turning over your partner?” I ask in jest, taking a sensible glug of my own beer.
“You still whining about that?”
“Yes.” I level a pissed-off look on my oldest friend. “Don’t think this is being brushed under the carpet. It isn’t. I feel like you cheated on me.”
Sal’s bald head gets thrown back, and he laughs hysterically. I don’t know why. This isn’t fucking funny. “Ty, Ty, Ty.” He chuckles. “Just get over it.”
“No.” I turn on my stool and forget what’s got my goat the moment a woman across the bar tips her martini glass at me before taking a slow sip, keeping suggestive eyes on me. “Well, hello, you stunner,” I muse to myself.
“What?” Sal asks, following my line of sight. When he obviously clocks what has my attention, he groans. “No skirt tonight. It isn’t fair.”
“You’re happily married. Shut up.” I tip my bottle at the black-haired beauty and smirk as I take a sip of my beer.
“I’m married,” he counters. “Who said anything about being happy?”
That soon pulls my attention away from a guaranteed screw. I look at him in shock, and he shrinks in his chair. “What?” I ask, though I know my face is asking that question already.
“I didn’t mean that.” His forearms meet the bar, his head dropped. “It’s been a long day, Mia isn’t sleeping, work is crazy, and Moya just doesn’t seem to get it. It’s all about cupcakes, frilly party dresses, and morning coffee with the mummy brigade. Don’t mind me.” He toasts himself. “I’ll just wither and die at my desk.”
I’m not often stuck for words, but I’m struck fucking dumb right now. Sal and Moya are the epitome of perfect. They’re everything a man or woman wants . . . if they want that kind of thing. The gorgeous house, the gorgeous kid, the money, the— “When was the last time you had sex?” I don’t know where that question comes from, but the need to ask is there, and my man brain can’t ignore it.
When my best friend looks up to the ceiling, clearly trying to recall, my balls shrivel on his behalf. “The other—”
“The other?” I gawk at him, horrified. “The words ‘the other’ should never be used when recalling the last time you got laid. The other Monday. The other Saturday. The other week. Before you know it, it’ll be the other fucking month.” I feel sick.
“The other month,” he mutters.
I nearly fall off my stool. “The other month?” Holy shit. More beer. I sink back half my bottle in despair for my best pal. And his dick. I’m all hot and sweaty.
Sal shrugs. “Mia’s not too great at going to bed. She always ends up getting in with us, and I end up on the couch because she’s a fucking starfish in bed. I’m too tired to argue, and Moya’s too busy running around all day keeping up with the Joneses to notice.”
“The other month.” I neck the rest of my beer and signal for more as soon as I slam it down on the bar. “Actually, another four, please.” As soon as they land, I thrust two toward my deprived friend, and take two for myself, one in each hand. “The other fucking month,” I sigh despondently.
“Don’t judge me, man. I hadn’t thought about it too much until you made such a big deal of it.”
