Page 138 of Bona Fide

? Passionfruit — Drake ?

The wedding went betterthan I could’ve imagined. Everything that Layla wanted to happen went off without a hitch. Again, the easiest event I’ve done on such short notice.

But on the flip side of this transaction, my life is being flipped upside down on a “vacation” that I was hoping would rid myself of any extra stress or problems. Where I could let my hair down, bask in the sun, and not continuously glance over at Wade Lockwood in his khaki pants, white dress shirt, and coral suspenders.

I could choke him to death for how the man can look like a damn god and never suffer the consequences for his actions.

Tumbler in hand, he laughs with Chase as the music around us plays on the beach in all his spotless splendor. His white dress shirt is filled out by his broad chest, and his pants leave nothing to my imagination because I’ve already been there and fucking done that. The hundreds of strings of lights that are hung by rope and wooden rods in the sand only make him stand out more to me.

I can never keep my gaze off him for too long.

It’s almost impossible for me not to notice him because my heart longed for him a long time ago. Over three hundred and sixty-five days worth of self-loathing over how I can’t just drop this fool and become whole again. How pathetic it was that nothing can blur out the memories, the words that were spoken, or the feelings I let flourish into thoughts of a future.

My self-destruction backfired because not even a month after I sent him that video of Grant, Jed, and I, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. Besides Wade’s lies, the reflection that stared back at me was becoming an enemy I couldn’t off because—well, I’d be killing myself.

And since suicide wasn’t something I had the balls to do nor did I ever want to throw Mama and Marty through something that horrific, I continue to watch the power that oozes off his body. His facial hair is more full around his jawline, making him appear more knowledgeable and worldly.

It doesn’t help that we’re forced into this small gathering with the intimate feel of romance and love. All this lovey-dovey stuff makes me want to play the angriest rock song that ever existed and point accusingly at him.

I rake a hand down my face—this is what my life has come to.

A shit show of fun, giggles, and thoughts of choking out a specific man even after a year of having no contact with him.

“Never been to Mexico,” a male voice states matter-of-factly at my side. “It’ll definitely be something I’d like to do again.”

I glance over my shoulder to see a guy my height in heels, sending me a grin over the rim of his martini glass. Short blonde hair, green eyes, and a slightly crooked nose, my sinister little mind already starts mapping out scenarios in my head.

“It’s amazing,” I answer mindlessly, steering my attention back in the direction of my inner turmoil.

Wade is speaking to Chase and Layla, casually enjoying their conversation and oblivious to the inner workings of my head.

When is enough, enough, Lockwood?

Another scheme to get me somewhere near him. First hiring me to run his events, knowing who I was before he hired me. Now, this.

“Had you ever been before?”

I shake my head and return my attention to the stranger now standing at my side. “Never.”

“It’s amazing how days turn into years, and by the time you know it, you’re thirty-two, and looking at a passport with no stamps.”

“Right.” I bob my head in agreement, not giving two shits about this conversation and about ready to just leave.

I wonder how close I can get to Wade’s head with my glass?

Except for the few men dressed in all black surrounding the area, that I’ve seen, alluding that they are Wade’s Secret Service makes me wonder how quickly they move.

I mean, he is our president, I should make sure that at any given moment of time that they are on the ready. Which means rushing him with one of the dinner knives is out of the question.

Thankfully, Wade has been ignoring me the whole night as I’ve been sulking behind the small crowds. Mila has been dancing with one of the groomsmen all night, laughing and flirting. She looks beautiful in a light pink gown that hugs her chest and falls aimlessly to the inserted dance floor.

The wedding guests are quiet and respectful, having a good time on their own, and I think the babysitter—me—is going to go find someone with some weed or drink myself to death at the bar. I literally can’t stand being here another minute with Wade so close to me.

“Where are you from?” the oblivious dude next to me asks.

“Connect—New York.”

“I get to go there often for business. Where in—”

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