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“I hate you, Shaw Grant. You and your little bastard.”
She turns, grabbing her purse from the counter, and storms out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.
My shoulders relax at her exit, almost relieved that it went better than expected. Angry Lizzie I can handle.
Emotional Lizzie, not so much.
My phone pings from my back pocket, and I pull it out to find a message from Tate.
Tate: Please tell me you get a bachelor’s party.
I scoff at the message and pour myself another drink. Of course he’d find joy in my misery.
Me: Not a chance. Her brother will have my balls in a jar.
Owen: Fuck in a jar, he’ll have them rammed down your throat.
I grimace at his analogy, knowing it’s probably the truth.
Owen: That’s after he’s made you deep-throat your own cock.
I cringe, knowing Owen won’t be exaggerating.
Mase: When is the wedding?
Me: Saturday.
Mase: Do we have to attend?
Jeez, thanks for the support, dipshit.
Me: I don’t think you’re invited.
Reed: This better not affect business, Shaw.
I roll my eyes at the serious prick. My life is going down the shitter and all he is bothered with is the company. He has the most money out of all of us. If the business went bust, he’d be fine.
Tate: Is she hot?
I smile at just how hot she is. Beautiful doesn’t do her justice.
Me: Yes. Very.
Tate: Bonus. Do you get to fuck on your wedding night?
I drag a hand over my jaw. Good fucking question, and my cock likes the thought too, as it swells in my pants thinking about her and her tight pussy.
Mase: He broke up with Lizzie.
Guilt floods me for letting my mind wander to Emi so quickly.
Tate: Whoops.
Mase: T don’t be a dick head.
Owen: It was for the best.
Tate: Did she try to suck you off?
