Page 2 of Liam

"You wouldneverconsider marriage?" Owen urged.

The answer to that question had become more complicated in the past few hours. I wasn't sure anymore. Maybe therewasa man out there who could put up with me long-term.

"I didn't say that." That was my answer. Truth was, I had very little data to formulate any kind of impression of marriage. I'd grown up bounced around in care in dysfunctional foster homes.

Ethan's eyebrows rose as he looked at me. "Huh … curious." Then his gaze fell on Charlie—Charlotte. Whoever the hell he or she was today. Some days, I couldn't keep track.

"No prospects at the moment," I said and immediately felt guilty.

Charlie shoved his seat away, lines creasing his forehead, and stood. "You're an asshole." He shoved me aside and took off in the direction of the open barn doors.

Fuck.

I took a few steps to follow him. "I'm sorry. Charlie …." He waved me off. He was right. Saying what I had about him was a dick move. It seemed to be our auto-setting with each other.

"What the hell was that?" Owen asked as I sat in Charlie's vacated seat.

"He swears he's not developing feelings for me." I hitched my thumb over my shoulder. "And then he says and does something like that. I don't know why we keep this thing of ours going."

"I'm going to guess the sex is good," Daniel said.

I exhaled and rolled my eyes. "It's the angriest sex I've ever had. I think we might actually hate each other. But it works for both of us. The sex is beyond good." I took a sip of Charlie's abandoned wine and then finished the glass. "I'm off to the washroom."

I wove through the tables and found my way to the ornate mirror above a row of sinks. I released the knot on my tie, letting the lengths of material dangle onto my pecs, and popped open a few buttons on my shirt to expose my bare chest. I'd had a spray-tan session yesterday. The effect of my golden skin against my white shirt was stunning. I tugged my shirt open wider.

My hair was in a bun which I released, helping along the cascade of blond strands around my face to my shoulders with my fingers. Overall, I looked like one of those gallant men on the covers of steamy hetero-romance novels. I bit my lips a few times to puff and redden them.

I lifted my phone, my constant companion, and snapped a few pictures. Scanned through them, reset my pose, and took more. Out of at least thirty, I found one that was acceptable.

I posted it to my social media account with the caption—WillI get lucky tonight?

#bestman #wedding #toosexytofail

I took a minute to read through the comments on my last post. I'd been in the gym, working out. My followers liked my sweaty gym pictures where I showed off my rock-hard abs.

Most of the comments were positive.

cameoslut156:So hot!

diggerdog24:You're making me sweat!

sausagemonster67: I want to lick those abs clean!

Then there were the ones that weren't. The ones that got under my skin.

porcelindick89:Cover up old man.

juggerwatcher11:You should be ashamed. Seen so much better.

darkhorse189:Why aren't you dead yet?

I wrinkled my nose. It was comments like that last one that got to me the most. I'd never considered suicide, but it sent me into a dark spiral knowing others wished me dead.

I decided to return to the gathering as is. It was getting late. I liked it when I was messy and sultry, and the drinks I'd consumed were doing their job of making me feel good about myself.

After swinging by the bar, I made a beeline to the head table. Noah and Brody were circulating through their guests, leaving Jamal sitting on his own at the far end of the table from my seat.

That wouldn't do.

---