Page 20 of Mr. Wicked

The butler returned with another drink since, somehow, mine was already gone. I grabbed the new one off his tray and immediately brought it up to my lips.

“This is a marathon, remember.”

I swallowed the sip and turned to my friend. “What, are you worried about me?”

“I was watching you from the hot tub and you looked like you needed to be checked on. Practically funneling booze, flushed skin—”

“I’m hot. That’s all it is.”

He nodded, the movement causing his aviators to fall, and he pushed them high on his nose. “I don’t doubt that. But is there anything you want to talk about?”

Feelings. As if I had any.

But I didn’t because emotions were bullshit.

Because they’d been sucked out of me at a young age and I’d never let them replenish.

“Things are good, my man.” I positioned myself similarly to him, but with only one hand behind my head, the other surrounding my cocktail. “I’m here in paradise. Hooked is killing it. My dad’s healthy. How could things get any better?”

He nodded toward the school of chicks. “I’m sure your answer to that question would be to bring those six women into a bedroom and see just how creative you can get when you have that many mouths and fingers and pussies at your disposal.”

I moaned at the thought. “I like the way you think. But six is a lot, even for me.”

“How about one?”

My brows raised as I nodded toward the women. “You mean one of them?”

“Sure. Or just one in general whom you spend more than one night with and, you know, you actually develop something with her.”

“You have to be fucking shitting me.”

He reached across the small space between us, flattening his hand on my chest as if to keep me in my seat. “Don’t lose it on me. I know the mere mention of monogamy typically sends you on a shouty spiral—”

“Then why do you keep bringing it up?”

“Will you just hear me out?” When I didn’t respond, his hand moved to my bicep. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to go on double dates and vacation together as couples? Travel the world together—just the four of us, or six of us, where Easton and Drake could tag along too?”

Freddy had settled down a few months back. The motherfucker acted like he’d been married for ten years and could judge my single life when in reality this relationship—and any relationship—was new to him.

Since he’d gotten tied down, this was at least the second time he’d brought this up.

The first time, I’d ignored him.

But something was bubbling, and I was ready to fucking roar.

“Let me get this straight. You think it sounds good for the six of us to hop on Hooked’s private jet and fly off to somewhere like Ibiza, where you can spoil your girlfriend in gifts and walk hand in hand in the sunset and declare every morning when she wakes up in your arms just how much you love her.” I took a drink, still attempting to settle that unnerving feeling in my chest, but adding more booze to my bloodstream wasn’t helping. “But from where I’m sitting, you look pretty content on a boat with six women who you’re fucking salivating to touch.” I adjusted my position so I could get a better look at him.

“I didn’t say I was actually going to touch them.”

I hissed out air, shaking my head. “But you want to, and you have a goddamn hard-on just thinking about it.” I remembered the cigar I’d been searching for earlier and pulled it out of my pocket, the butler instantly appearing to light it. Once I had the tip lit, I asked Freddy, “Does your girlfriend know there are women on the boat? Or you happened to leave that bit out when you told her about the trip?” When he said nothing, I smiled. “Thought so.”

“Do you know the argument that would ensue if she knew they were on this trip with us?”

“And that’s one of the many reasons I’m not interested in the bullshit.” I blew out a mouthful of smoke. “Work is enough of a responsibility that consumes far too much of my time. I don’t need a woman who’s going to fight with me about everything and demand hours I don’t have in my day and whine when she doesn’t get her way.”

He scratched the dark patch of hair across his chest. “Because we both know you don’t understand the term compromise.”

I understood the term, all right, and I’d made an exception—for Jovana.

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