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Or do I?I’ve known for a while that my radar is off. I thought my ex was kind and gentle and didn’t read the signs that he was dangerously possessive until things had already gone too far. I don’t know if I’m in much of a position to brag about my ability to understand men at this point.
My heart lifts as he shakes his head at Sequins only for her to scuttle off like the crustacean she is, only I swear to God, not one fucking minute later, some other woman wrangles her way into position next to him.
“God, why do women keep thrusting themselves at him like that?” I seethe, my skin crawling at the sight. “He’s not the only hot dick they can hop on around here.”
“Girl, do you understand who that is?” replies Nisha in hushed tones. “That’s Greyson fucking Everitt. He’s worth an absolute fortune, like hundreds of millions or something. He inherited a fortune, and his family own this big successful PR firm for rich fuckers, and tons of property all over Washington.”
“Oh, woop-dee-do,” I mutter, already aware that that’s part of the reason he’s so insufferably arrogant. “How did they make that much money in PR anyway? Something nefarious, no doubt.”
“I’m not sure, but their clients are like next level. I mean fucking presidents and senators and billionaires and shit.”
“They just make money helping pigs not get caught rolling around in mud.”
“Pretty much.”
I feel myself simmering at the dark-skinned goddess attempting small talk with Grey and his friends as the MC announces the winner of the oil painting auction—a portly gentleman now walking across the dancefloor to collect his prize.
“God, it’s so humiliating the way they just throw themselves at him like that,” I snap in irritation. “I mean, don’t they have any standards?”
“Standards? Girl, I’d sell my left pussy lip for a night in the sack with that man. You’re too picky, Indie.”
“Yeah, maybe because in my last relationship, I wasn’t picky enough.”
“God, screw that loser.”
Easier said than done.
It doesn’t help that Anne’s assistant took our phones so that we could walk down the aisle unencumbered, and I can’t help but constantly wonder if he’s texted again or whether he’s decided to leave me alone as I asked him to. I shouldn’t care, but at this point, I've reached that insidious stage of high anxiety where not knowing feels worse than facing things.
“Don’t even think of him,” she adds.
I nod, my thoughts caught in some maelstrom where I’m worrying about my ex while simultaneously unable to control my jealousy over women still swarming around Grey like wasps around bowls of fruit salad. I mean, no wonder he’s so damn conceited if women keep launching themselves at him like homing missiles.
“Women are such morons sometimes,” I groan.
“Girl, I wouldn’t worry,” Nisha replies, taking a naughty sip of champagne that she nabbed from a tray floating by. “Frankly there was more heat between you two as you were walking down the aisle than there was between the bride and groom.”
“Heat? The only heat I felt was the burn of irritation. The guy is such an unfiltered asshole.”
“A veryhotunfiltered asshole.”
“Yeah, well, I've had enough of those in the last year to last a lifetime. At least he can go amuse himself with the gaggle of braindead bimbos launching themselves at him.”
“Hey, don’t judge, miss. They’ll be enjoying themselves tonight, unlike you with that baton lodged up your ass. What happened to Little Missseize the day? Did she not make it onto the island or something?”
“It’s notthemI’m judging,” I sigh, not remembering having been this much of a killjoy in quite some time.
I don’t feel like myself right now. I feel knocked off balance and prickly, my emotions heightened, my body oversensitive to stimuli. I really just need to find a hole to crawl into for a month in the hopes that when I come out, Micah will have forgotten my existence. “He just bugs me,” I add.
“Well, I’d say the feeling is mutual.” She tips her head towards him and I pivot a little, inhaling sharply as I meet the burning ice of his eyes across the dancefloor. “That glare is freaking uncivilized,” she whispers.
It is… and yet all I want him to do is to keep glaring, to keep reminding me that my body can want a man again.
“God, I think we’re up next,” says Nisha, making my stomach churn. “Anne just waved at me.”
“Oh shit,” I reply. “I was hoping we could donate the money instead.”
“What the hell has gotten into you?” she sniggers. “I've never seen you this grouchy.”
