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“There you are,” Dante bellows and splashes his cocktail onto the deck. He’s shitfaced, I can tell already.
He takes a seat on the matching sofa across from me, and one of the girls following him slides in next to him, one bare leg thrown over his thigh. She’s licking his neck, and he’s paying absolutely no attention to her. The second chick darts to the deck railing to take selfies against the river backdrop.
“Did she take the job?” Dante asks me.
I shake my head, “Not yet.”
At least not as of a couple of hours ago when I texted Edmund, and he reiterated that he would let me know as soon as he hears from her, either way.
“Damn. Bella,” he calls to the selfie chick and waves her over. “My friend here has a broken heart, can you believe it?”
On cue, Selfie Sally struts over and I give Dante a death glare as she plants herself in my lap and puts her arm around my neck. “That’s terrible, who would do such a thing?” She coos and runs her hand over my face.
“A brown-eyed American girl,” Dante answers her on my behalf.
“Oh, are you American, too?” Sally asks, her hands running up and down my chest. She sounds like she’s from Manchester, and by the looks of these two, Dante has picked up another couple of models, or wanna-be models, from somewhere.
“Yep.” I’m entirely too sober for this shit tonight.
“Buy me dinner, and I’ll make you forget all about her,” Sally squeaks.
The very suggestion that this girl could make me forget Emily offends me, even though I have attempted her theory several times over in the past. It doesn’t work. “For what? You’d only pretend to eat it anyway.”
Sally pouts at me.
“Dude, don’t be rude,” Dante scolds me and slurs his speech.
I look around Sally’s rack to Dante, “You don’t find this tiresome at all?”
“You’re mad! Find what tiresome?”
I look at Sally and take her chin between my fingers to prove my point, “Sweetheart, what’s my name?”
“Mmmmm,” she thinks, or she tries to, “Captain America!”
“Uh-huh, and what’s his name?” I point to Dante, whose girl is still wrapped around him and oblivious to the conversation.
“Whatever you want it to be?” Sally asks.
“Damn fine answer!” Dante bellows.
I lean back into the couch and run my fingers over my eyebrows.
“What’s your problem, man?” Dante grows serious and taps the vampire latched onto his neck to scoot off so he can lean forward on his couch.
“No problem,” I lie. There are a million problems.
“Bullshit. You see her once, and you’re a total soft cock now.”
I grab Sally’s hips and drag her off my lap, depositing her on the couch next to me. She pouts for a millisecond before scampering to the railing for more selfies with her friend.
Dante is right, not about the soft cock, but about my bullshit. A week ago, Sally, or whoever, would have been bent over the deck railing she’s so fond of.
Then I had to go and poke the s
leeping bear.
“Lock the place up when you’re done, will you?” I stand up to head inside.
