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“You’re not obsessed. You’re in love.” He slaps my shoulder. “Look around, bro. This is your future. Hey, Rior, don’t throw out that pool!”
Wiping his eyes, Balor swaggers away, laughing.
I’m not fucking amused.
I don’t want this. It’s not for me. No one needs me to be married. Unlike my brothers, I actually have to work. I could hire more lawyers, but I don’t know who to trust.
I trust Jillian with my darkest secrets.
Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Although Balor’s concern about me helping Vance against the Borgias has me worried. Is my obsession with Jillian compromising my judgment?
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Jillian
“Texting the Hottie McHottison?” Trista looks over my shoulder Saturday afternoon.
“That’s a Scottish accent you’re butchering, by the way.” I smile, putting my phone in my purse.
We take our trays of food and hunt down two seats.
This off-the-strip Korean deli is more of a heavenly buffet, but Trista didn’t mind the drive when I said I have some good sex gossip. Not only do I keep my friendship with her on the downlow, but I also don’t want anyone I know to see me pigging out.
I can’t help it, though.
Noodles. Dumplings. Sesame shrimp with pineapple. Barbeque short ribs.
“And yes, I’m texting McHottison.” I swirl the noodles around my plastic fork, take a bite, and swallow.
“Where is he?”
“He had to fly home to New York.” I bring more food to my lips and catch Trista staring at me with her jaw hinged open. I glance down to see if the whole noodle plate ended up on my fork. Seeing it wasn’t, I say, “What?”
“I only wish I was recording you.”
“Recording what?” I take a bite.
“The way you whined about him leaving.”
Did I whine?
“I'm just tired.” I sip some diet Dr. Pepper. “We were up late having sex again last night.”
“How is it you didn’t open with this?” Trista leans in, eyes wide for details. “Dish.”
“We actually had a little…date.”
“Define little date.”
“I was having dinner, or supposed to be having dinner with a lawyer whose firm worked with the Borgias.” All this is on record, and I don’t have to be cagey. “The Irish maniac followed me there, sat his gorgeous, taut ass at the bar and stared at me.” I roll my eyes. “So, I left with him.”
“And…”
“We went to this great piano bar, had drinks and tappas, and danced.”
The metallic slam of a Pepsi can makes me look up.
