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I eye the mug of liquid he slides in front of me. It has what looks like a tea bag floating on the surface.
“It’s herbal tea,” he drawls at my unspoken question.
“Eh?” I blink as he walks around the room and the rest of the men, even Declan, take a cup. Then, Sinclair sits down on the other side of the couch from me.
“Drink,” he growls.
I take a sip, and gag. “The fuck is this?”
“Chamomile, it’s good for the nerves,” he says with a straight face.
“Nothing wrong with my nerves.”
“Not yet.” He smirks. Michael bares his teeth. JJ chuckles. Declan’s shoulders shake. He glances down into his cup—which I notice he’s not taken a sip from yet.Coward.
“What the fuck do you mean?” I narrow my gaze.
JJ leans back in his seat. “We’re here to teach you the art of groveling.”
“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” I splutter.
“You heard me, boy.” His grin widens. “I assume you want to win back the love of your life?”
I nod slowly.
“Then I’m afraid groveling is a rite of passage you’ll have to, sadly, endure,” he declares.
“Boyfriends, fiancés, and husbands are only as good as the grovel they give,” Michael rumbles.
Sinclair nods. “It’s the only thing that stands between a life in which you have your soulmate by your side and one in which you take a fast train to becoming a sad, lonely and bitter man who letthe oneslip away.”
“On that note…” Declan places the mug on the side table, then rises to his feet. “Uh, I just remembered I have somewhere very urgent to be. Good luck, ol’ chap.” The fucker pivots and marches off.
“Your time will come. Just you wait, you cumwipe,” I yell after him.
“What are you, five?” JJ snickers.
“I might as well be, the way you guys are talking to me.”
“Just calling it as we see it, dick-canard,” Sinclair says in a genial voice.
I take another sip of the tea—because why not? My life is already in the toilet. Come to think of it, it isn’t as horrifying as the first mouthful was. Maybe, I’m getting used to it. Which is a more frightening thought, actually. “Is there a reason you chose this particular type of herb?” I scowl at Sinclair.
“Finally, he gets it,” Sinclair places his mug on the table next to him. JJ and Michael follow his lead.
“Personally, I never drink chamomile, but it serves its purpose,” JJ murmurs.
“Wha—?” I glance between the three men, then down at the mug of tea. I hesitate, then take another sip, and this one goes down smoothly, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. In fact, I dare say, a warm feeling envelops my stomach, then radiates out to my extremities. “Huh. It really does have a bracing effect.”
“No shit,” Sinclair’s smirk widens.
“And, as you finally guessed, there’s an allegory hidden in this entire chamomile tea business.”
“There is?” I frown, then because—what the fuck, I’m going for broke here—I drain the entire fucking mug like it’s the finest whiskey and place it with a thump on the table next to me.
“Care to take a guess?” Michael drawls.
“Something to do with how the more you swallow your pride, the easier it gets?” I wager.
