My brows knit. “There’s more than one side?”
Brown eyes narrow in frustration. “I’m his best friend, you forgotten stuffed animal, he tells me everything. Meaning I’m basically the host of Win-oholics Anonymous.”
Her words are gallons upon gallons of gasoline poured over dangerous flames. Doubts I’ve harbored for years crumble to ash beneath the roaring fire as the sliver of hope whispers, “See? That soul-deep connection isn’t imaginary. He’s still yours as much as you’re his.”
But hope is a fickle whore.
Chewing the tip of the toothpick, I mutter, “I’m sure it’s been years since one of those meetings.”
The sharp sting of her knuckles whacks the side of the head.
“Ow!”
She stomps her chunky boot, releasing a strangled shriek. “Neither of you have updated the software up here!” she howls, punctuating her point with another smack to the temple. Ihiss through my teeth and cower as she rants. “Stop acting like a goddamn ostrich and pull your head out of the fucking sand! He’s not over you— he’ll neverbeover you and I swear on every vengeful entity in the universe that if you hurt him again, I’ll skewer you on a pike and roast you until you’re an unrecognizable, charred corpse!”
I blink at her.
“That's terrifyingly specific.”
She ignores my sass, hands landing on her hips as her head tilts with a menacing snarl.
“The only reason I haven't mangled you beyond repair for the bullshit you put him through is the fact that if anything happens to you, he’ll toss himself out a window.”
A stiletto nail lands between my eyes.
I wince.
“That said… I’ve been meaning to do this.”
I’m about to ask what in the fresh hell she’s talking about when a knee collides with my crotch.
“Motherfuck—”
Bent in half, I gasp through the agony. She pats my head. “Get it together, Pooh. Your honey pot is coming downstairs.”
I straighten so fast black specks dance in my eyes.
Sure enough, Remy is trotting down, watching his brown dress boots and skimming his fingertips along the railing. The sight of him sends blood rushing to my sore dick, but arousal quickly veers toward fury.
His hair is styled and pushed back from his forehead, a pair of dark jeans hugging his long legs as they eat up the distance between us. The light blue short sleeve button-up he chose accentuates his broad shoulders and tapered waist. He's a goddamn wet dream come to life.
As soon as Remy spots me, he scowls. But a flash of surprise swallows his sour expression when he finds me scowling right back at him.
“Where the hell are you going dressed like that?”
He stumbles to a halt.
Andrea smacks the back of my head. I barely feel it.
“Ok, caveman, you could’ve just said he looks like a snack,” she hisses before smiling at Remy. “Ignore the buzzkill. You look gorgeous, babe.”
He's a confused statue.
I’m torn between hauling his ass upstairs and drop-kicking his instigating best friend.
“Stop calling him babe,” I snarl. She elbows me in the gut. “Bitch.”
Committing first degree murder doesn’t seem far fetched anymore.
