Page 99 of My Rules

“Yeah, who’ve you been boning in the spare room?”

“What?”

He holds up a pair of pink pajama pants. They have big red love hearts all over them. “Found these under the bed.”

“What?” I screw up my face. “Where under the bed?”

“At the top, in between the wall and bed.”

I take them off him and stare at them in confusion. “I have no idea whose these are.”

“Bec’s about to get it on with Logan,” Henley calls from the window.

“Yeah, I guessed that.” Antony goes to the coffee machine. “He’s putting in the work. Every day he’s out at the front of her house, small talking.”

“Small talk from the small dick.” I go to the bin and scrape my leftovers into it. “We need to bomb that Navy House as soon as possible.”

“Knock, knock,” Rebecca’s voice calls from the front door.

Great.

“Speak of the devil,” Henley mouths.

“Fuck. Off,” I mouth back. I snatch the pajama pants off him and stuff them into the cutlery drawer. “Come in,” I call.

Rebecca comes into view; her dark hair is up in a high ponytail, and her skin has a just-exercised glow to it. Her big brown eyes find mine across the room. “Hi.” She smiles.

“Hi.” I keep washing my plate and cutlery.

“Hello.” She and the boys begin to chat while I take my time washing the last few coffee cups.

I don’t even want to talk to her.

Go home.

“Are you all packed?” Rebecca asks Henley.

“Yep. Juliet is just dropping her parents at the airport, and then we’re leaving. I’ve been briefing the boys.”

“Right.” She looks between us.

“Blake is walking him in the morning and Ant in the afternoon.”

“Uh-huh.” She smiles. “And sleepovers at my house.”

“Blake is going to give him breakfast every morning back at our house.”

“He isn’t a fucking baby,” I snap. “Relax, I think we can look after a stupid dog for a week.” I pick up the dish towel. “Go ... screw your new wife, stupid.”

“What’s wrong with you today?” Ant curls his lip.

“Nothing is wrong with me.” I widen my eyes. “Apart from the fact that it’s eight o’clock in the morning, and I have a lot of annoying people in my kitchen.”

“Blake, do you want to come over for dinner tonight?” Rebecca asks.

“No, thank you.” I keep wiping down my kitchen counter with vigor.

“I’m making your favorite. Lasagna,” she says sweetly to try and coax me into it.

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