Page 122 of The Christmas Wife

"Fake girlfriend, slash fiancée, slash wife-to-be not helping with your problem then?" Damian smirks.

"What problem?" I growl.

"That you can’t get it up, of course."

I frown, "Where do you get your asinine ideas from?"

"The same place you come up with your brainwaves of sharing a cabin with a woman you’ve met only once before." He chuckles.

"About that," I crack my neck, "it’s over."

"Oh, yeah?" Damian tilts his head, "Hold on, I'm adding Arpad to the call."

"Don't..." I begin to protest, when Arpad's face appears in a window. "Man, and I thought I was bad at relationships, this has to be a record, even for you," he snickers.

"Fuck off," I growl.

"So, you think it’s over, but it’s not really over?" Damian pipes in.

"I am not going to explain myself."

"What are friends for, if you can’t use our shoulders to cry on… Or not." Arpad’s screen shakes and droplets of water splash the surface.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"On my yacht, enjoying everything life has to offer, unlike you."

"Why the fuck do I take your calls?" I grumble.

"Because you have something on your mind, and need to vent, like a girl?" Damian laughs.

"Because you are heart-broken?" Arpad snickers.

"Okay, bye," I hold my finger over the screen.

"Ooh, someone’s antsy. Did we hurt your feelings? Are you upset you’re not getting married like Saint and Sinner before you?"

"You look grumpy. Not jerking off either, are you?"

I shake my head, "Fuck that, and fuck you two,"and fuck the woman who put me in this situation, where I am not able to string together two words. Fucking fuck!

I hear the pattering of paws on the floor, then Max jumps up on the sofa and shoves his face in mine. "Hey," I protest, but he licks my mouth, then turns and peers into the screen.

"Hello, ol’ boy," Damian chuckles. "You keeping Uncle Weston company while he fucks up his life?"

"A womananda dog?" Arpad chuckles, "Should I fetch your slippers and dressing gown next ol' chap?"

"Jesus, fuck." I am not sure what I’d intended to accomplish through this conversation, but it wasn’t being at the mercy of a mutt and two of my 'friends.'

"At least, I saved the Father from the burden of a virtual wedding." I grouse.

"Speaking of," Arpad drawls, "I'm adding Edward to the call."

No, fuck, no.Why do I insist on calling my 'friends,' knowing I'll be put through the wringer each time?

"Someone mention my name?" Edward’s face flickers onto the screen.

"I was just leaving," I grumble.

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