Page 288 of The Billionaires

“I can’t believe you’re getting your balls shackled,” Michael says in a voice low enough so only the four of us can hear him.

“And voluntarily too,” Bernard adds.

“And where did she find shackles that tiny?” Michael continues.

“I suspect she’s got something on him,” Warren says to the others with mock concern.

“Oh, shit,” Bernard says to me conspiratorially. “Blink twice if she’s got a bomb in your butthole.”

“Or any other hole,” Michael adds.

“You’re a hole,” I say. “All three of you are.”

“That’s the weakest burn in the history of burns,” Michael says.

Do other grown men de-evolve back to their teenage selves when they get together like this, no matter how many years have passed? Anyone who knows these three as they are now would not believe the words coming out of their highly respected mouths.

“Wait a second,” Michael says with a grin. “Is she the sex bot you always wanted to invent?”

“Why would he marry his sex bot?” Warren asks. “The beauty of a sex bot is that you don’t need a wife. Or a girlfriend.”

“Enough,” Bernard says. In a more serious tone, he asks me, “Are you having cold feet at all?”

“Cold feet?” Michael exclaims. “No way! I bet he invented some special shoe warmers just for that, and is wearing them now.”

I tune out the rest of the ribbing and watch the photo shoot until Kevin asks the four of us to step up to the green screen.

“Do not fuck around during the shoot,” I say to my friends in a tone that hopefully conveys my ability—and eagerness—to kick the guilty party in the balls.

They either get the message or remember who they actually are and behave with dignity as the shoot starts.

The only problem is their smiles are fake, but who cares, right?

Suddenly, Leo rips at his leash, frees himself from the new walker, and beelines for Kevin’s crotch.

Since hurt balls are still at the forefront of my mind, I cringe.

Only Leo isn’t interested in causing Kevin any pain.

Well, not physical anyway.

What Leo does is take a very thorough sniff. A sniff loud enough for the neighborhood cats to overhear and take shelter.

“Wow,” Bernard says. “The dog has got his whole head up in there.”

“Do you think the photographer carries bacon in his butt?” Michael asks.

“Cluster together again,” Kevin says to the four of us, acting as if nothing is happening.

We exchange glances and then do as Kevin says. I mean, Leo is happy to keep sniffing, and if Kevin wants a dog in his crotch, who are we to judge?

Oh, and needless to say, the smiles on the next bunch of photos are pretty genuine.

When the friends shoot is done, I take pity on Kevin and take Leo back to the soon-to-be-replaced handler.

“Okay,” Kevin says with a solemness you would not expect from a guy who’s just had his dignity sniffed away by a big, wet nose. “Now the newlyweds.”

As soon as my friends stampede away, Jane floats over to my side, looking equal parts gorgeous and overwhelmed.

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