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Cara - Dude. What the fuck? You never came home! Don’t tell me you’re too caught up in your raunchy fuck fest that you forgot I’ve been dying for those juicy details? GET YOUR BITCH ASS BACK HERE AND TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!
A smile pulls at my lips, and I can’t help but laugh. I freaking love her—most of the time. She’s a lot to handle, and I’m sure had we been given more time together, she would have made an incredible long-term bestie.
I quickly respond.
Oakley - Girl, these dudes are full on. If I can get back there to tell you all the juicy details, I will!
Cara - BOO! WHORE! But remember, if you’re going to have three guys finger bang you, make sure they trim their nails. No one wants to be finger banged by Freddy Krueger, sis!
I snort a laugh, so loud I swear I hear a slight pause in the boys’ reps coming from the gym.
Oakley - Why do I feel as though I’m going to regret telling you about it?
Cara - No regrets, girl. Embrace it.
All too aware of my father rotting in a cell while I’m laughing at bullshit texts about being finger banged by Freddy Krueger, I exit my texts before opening the secure folder and trying to piece together this impossible blueprint puzzle.
I must spend at least twenty minutes on it before hearing Sawyer yelling through the penthouse. “Doll, where the fuck are ya?”
Knowing he’ll come barging through this door without hesitation, I roll my eyes as I call back, more than prepared to humiliate myself if it means getting just a few more precious moments of privacy. “I’m taking a shit. Leave me alone.”
A moment of silence follows before I hear Sawyer’s footsteps heading toward my room. My eyes bulge out of my head, and I scramble across the empty room before diving into the private bathroom and hastily dropping my phone into the toilet roll holder. I make a show of flushing the toilet, knowing damn well that asshole would be listening through the door just to make sure I’m not lying to him, and then I go as far as to turn on the taps to wash my hands.
I’m busy drying them against Dalton’s shirt because Zade couldn’t even leave a hand towel in here when I hear another buzz from my phone. Hearing Sawyer’s footsteps walking away from the door, I quickly check it again only to find a new text from an unknown number.
Unknown - Babe, it’s Harley. I met you at Danny’s. What do you say about that date? Dinner Saturday night?
A scoff pulls from deep in my chest, and I nearly delete the text before reconsidering. A date could be fun. I’m not exactly interested in dating Harley, but he seemed like a really cool guy. Plus, I wouldn’t mind getting out of this penthouse, even if it’s just to sit in a restaurant and listen to some guy try to work his way into my pants. The boys would never go for it, though. Especially Dalton. He’s happy sharing me with his friends, but I don’t know how he’d feel about me seeking out another man’s attention.
Well, kind of. It’s not like I’m going to let the guy take me home, and I can guarantee the boys will be sitting right across the restaurant. The fact that it’ll frustrate the shit out of Zade is even better.
The only question is, how do I get the boys to agree to this?
Thinking it through, I realize the only way for this to work is with a little bit of manipulation, my most prized party trick. And with that settled, I text him right back.
Oakley - It’s a date.
Chapter 18
OAKLEY
Striding out of my useless bedroom, I find Easton and Zade making their way out of the home gym. Both of them are shirtless, showing off those perfectly sculpted bodies, their tattoos only making it that much better. Sawyer’s already in the kitchen, standing in the open fridge, last night’s takeout busily being inhaled. A smirk pulls at my lips. The guy didn’t even bother to heat it up first.
Zade collapses into the chair at the head of the dining table, lounging back into the seat with his legs stretched out. Easton drops onto the couch, his elbows braced against his knees, all three of them looking as though they’ve pushed each other to the limit.
Striding into the kitchen, I reach up to grab myself a coffee mug when Easton’s voice cuts out across the penthouse. “You only just getting up now?” he questions, his gaze discreetly flicking toward the clock.
“Something like that,” I murmur, not really wanting to go into the details of what I’ve been doing for the past hour. Plucking a spoon out of the cutlery drawer, I give my coffee a stir before picking up the mug and lifting the rim to my lips. Taking a quick sip, I groan as the sweet goodness makes its way down my throat. “So, umm . . .” I start, nervousness beginning to pulse through my veins, unsure how this is going to go down. “Do we have any plans for the day?”
