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“You keep saying that,” he snaps, uncaring of the little surveillance we do have. “But I won’t schedule my time with you, Jasper. I won’t be your Monday fuck buddy.”
I sigh. “Mondays are busy. How about Thursday?”
“Every day or no day.”
“I don’t have sex every day, Lory. Jesus,” I retort. “Do you think I'm just a wet hole to fuck?”
“No.”
“I actually spend time with the guys I see,” I explain. “It’s not exactly a relationship, but it’s close enough. It’s the same thing we’ve done. Dinner, movies, walks in the park... All that bullshit and then some.”
He flexes his fingers, releasing his death grip on the steering wheel. “If I can’t see you every day—”
“So we’ll get a big house somewhere and all live together,” I sarcastically reply. “Wednesday would love coming home to see giant bags of drugs in your office and cameras in every corner. Truthfully, Tuesday wouldn’t have an issue with any of it. He’d probably get a kick out of making sure someone could watch us through the cameras.”
“I’m not sure if you’re trying to piss me off or if you’re just poorly negotiating an orgy-with-roommates situation.”
I scoff. “Neither, but if it’s pissing you off, it’s because you’re entertaining the idea. I know you. Stop trying to hide your interest.”
Fedor stops his truck beside us, heading away from his delivery. He doesn’t roll his window down to speak, just makes eye contact with me and tips his head.
His pockets are a little thicker from the payment.
The job is done.
They’re gone.
Now… It’s my turn.
The Copeland brothers have a beautiful estate with a sprawling, lush green lawn… And a matching emerald green pile of car parts sitting in front of the detached three-bay garage.
The crushed Aston really gives the property a lived-in feel, like this mansion isn’t just a fancy showroom.
I press the black doorbell, causing a loud chime to echo through the home. Lory clears his throat and steps out of view, the thick columns supporting the porch roof hiding him completely.
We’re not trying to get the jump on anyone, but I agree that this might go a little smoother if no one sees my backup.
“Yeah, yeah,” someone shouts from inside. “I heard all the noise. I’m coming.”
The ornate wooden door swings open, and Quin Copeland stares down at me. Confusion creases his brow as he studies me, trying to recall why I’m so familiar.
I toss the Aston’s steering wheel at him.
“What is this?” Quin asks, perplexed, as he flips it over in his hand.
“Your steering wheel.”
He touches his chest, biting at his lip as he sniffs. “My steering wheel?”
That’s a coke thing, so I stop worrying about him taking the ecstasy. The only reason he hasn’t asked who I am is because he’s fucking high… But I don’t mind helping him sober up a bit.
“Yep,” I pop back, nodding.
“How did you get this out of my car?”
“I didn’t,” I say, pursing my lips. “A friend of mine took it out for me.”
“Wait,” Quin drawls, excitement widening his eyes. “You know where my car is?”
