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Kip was not.
He fucked around.
A lot.
Not that I was judging, exactly. I fucked around a lot too. So, my dislike of him for simply being a manwhore was the pot calling the kettle a slut.
Still, something about him rubbed me the wrong way.
And also, something about him rubbed me the right way. Which pissed me off. I did not want to be another notch on his bedpost. I wanted him to be a notch on mine.
Therefore, I decided I was never ever going to fuck him.
Especially when our friends got involved.
We’d been at Nora’s house one night, at yet another dinner party with the four of us, a blatantly obvious attempt to create some kind of weird couple group.
Nora and Rowan were huddled in the kitchen, him likely whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
That meant I was alone with Kip. Or would’ve been had I not bolted to the bathroom the second our foursome became a twosome.
Except who was standing right outside the bathroom door, leaning against the wall, bottle of beer dangling between his fingers?
Fucking Kip.
“It’s creepy to wait outside bathrooms for women,” I snapped at him. I intended on walking around him, back to the living room and to my drink. Or maybe finding a blunt object. But Kip pushed deftly off the wall, right in my path.
“You know, now that Rowan and Nora are fucking…” Kip stepped forward to twirl a strand of my hair around his finger.
He smelled of wood, of dirt, of … man. It was not attractive.
Okay, it was alittleattractive.
Or it would’ve been, had the scent been coming from anyone but Kip. Kip who was getting in my face with those sparkling blue eyes of his, that cocky grin and overall arrogant demeanor.
I restrained the urge to knee him in the balls. Just barely.
Instead, I painted on a sensual smile and fluttered my eyelashes. “So… we should fuck?” I finished his sentence.
“Took the words right outta my mouth,” he drawled, mouth in question lingering closer.
“We will fuck,” I murmured, lips almost brushing his, “when the sun explodes and we’ve got eight minutes and twenty seconds left on planet Earth.” I grabbed a hold of his wrist, forcing my hair from his finger. “On second thought,” I said, squeezing as hard as I could before I dropped it and stepped away from him. “I could think of many more pleasurable things to do with my last eight and a half minutes on Earth.”
Kip did not look perturbed in the slightest. “Your loss, darlin’,” he murmured, shrugging. "But in eight minutes and twenty seconds, I’d be able to rock your whole fucking world.” He winked and walked away.
“Asshole,” I muttered, though my thighs had inexplicably pressed together.
two months before the wedding
Booze was to blame, as it often was for bad decisions.
I was drowning my sorrows in the local bar. Not something I was known to do.
Nora and I enjoyed good wine at her place most of the time. And if we did go out, it was to restaurants without sticky floors and twenty-one-year-olds crying in the bathroom.
Been there, done that, got the T-shirt and the pregnancy scare.
Now my bestie was shacked up with her grumpy veteran who absolutely adored her, and I was profoundly happy for her. Normally, if I needed to drown my sorrows, I’d go to Nora’s house. She’d feed me, give me fancy wine in equally fancy glasses, and, if I imbibed too much, I’d stay in her guest room.
