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“Free huh? Aren’t you grounded by your little sister?”
Berke sips his beer with a snort. “Don’t you hate your wife?”
“Did you kiss your daddy’s ass so you can be founder kid trash again,” Mikonos counters, as he picks up his own beer.
“Aren't you one of us too? Adopted Bishop.”
“Fuck you,” Mikonos adds the middle finger for affect.
Berke quirks his brow. “Something tells me you’d like it.”
“Ah…” Mikonos nods then cracks his neck. “I see what this is. Your little boyfriend runs off and gets married and now you want to get revenge with the groom’s brother.”
I try not to laugh because I must see where they’re going with this-for lack of a better word-conversation. It’s fascinating seeing two assholes in their natural habitat.
“Are you saying you want to go make out on the terrace?”
Mikonos puts his beer down and glares at Berke’s profile. “Bitch, I’ll pull your spine out through your fucking throat.”
Berke turns his head to look at Mikonos. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to piss myself and beg for amnesty?”
Mikonos’ lip twitches but I’m not sure his amusement is with Berke’s response or the ways he’s considered hurting him. “No. You wouldn’t have time for that. You’d never see me coming.”
“Does your wife feel the same way? You know, you never see her cuming?”
“Talking about that asshole does nothing for me. Fuck her. I don’t like her,” Mikonos admits.
My mouth is agape. Not about the information for Guin. We all know he can’t stand her but because this is the most I’ve ever seen Mikonos - the king of one-liners- talk. The best I get out of him is a grunt. He’ll talk around me to Ainslee or Markos in Greek, but he rarely talks to anyone.
Is this how jackasses bond?
“Anyway, there’s a MMA match tomorrow at seven.”
Mikonos snorts. “Why are you telling me? So you can mooch off of me? Broke ass.”
That reminds me. It’s time to unlock his accounts.
“I already have the tickets. And I’m not broke.” Berke shakes his head. “And you wonder why you cry in your pillow at night because you have no friends.”
Mikonos holds up a finger. “I'm sorry. I couldn’t hear you over the line of people waiting to talk to you. Go away, mate before people start to think I like you.”
Berke stands. “I need a refill. You’re boring anyway. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late, asshole.”
This is the most fascinating wedding ever.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Imala
Wyn wore me out in all the ways I loved but now that he sleeps peacefully, I find myself hungry at three in the morning. Slipping on my robe and house shoes. I head to the kitchen to find a light snack. One of the low lights in the kitchen is on and the glow of the refrigerator light tells me someone beat me to the snacks.
The door closes to reveal Berke wearing nothing but pajama pants. He has a pack of pre-made cookie dough in his hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I want some cookies,” he tells me the obvious.
“Cookies at three in the morning? You really are a rebel.”
