Page 14 of Billionaire's Frenemy

“You two are ridiculous,” Tatum said, shoving me back upright. “Every time the five of us go out, it’s always you two who can’t handle your liquor.”

“Fuck off,” Fray and I said together. Then we burst into laughter.

It was actually pretty rare that the five of us ever got together anymore. I’d missed hanging out with my brothers. And despite what Tatum claimed, I very rarely drank.

Granted, I was drunk now. Very, very drunk. But drunk just makes you honest, right? So, if I called her three sheets to the wind and confessed my love to her, she’d have no choice but to believe me.

“You know you’re talking out loud, right?” Luke asked, narrowing his gaze at me.

“I did not realize that, no,” I slurred, pointing at him. I pulled out my phone and pushed Willow’s number. “But I am not wrong.”

The phone rang a few times then kicked to voicemail.

“Voicemail,” I whispered loudly to the guys. “Wills, it’s Jamie.”

“Jamie,” Fray cooed, moving in to whisper into the receiver. “Your baby daddy.”

I shoved him off me.

“Sorry, he’s drunk.” I cleared my throat. “Willow, you know I love you. Can we please stop playing games and just get hitched already? You’re being really stupid. Call me, okay?”

I hung up and dropped my phone on the table, giving a wide grin to my brothers…who all stared at me with horrified looks on their faces. Even Fray.

“What?” I asked.

“Did you just call her stupid?” Luke asked, his tone taking on that dangerous low thing it did when he was really pissed.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Probably. She is stupid.”

“Boy,” Tatum said, chuckling softly. “You’re so fucked.”

Seven

Willow I’m-the-Stupid-One? Tate

Bemused, I listened to Jameson’s voicemail for the third time since getting up this morning.

Willow, you know I love you. Can we please stop playing games and just get hitched already? You’re being really stupid. Call me, okay?

Sipping my decaf, which, yes,didtaste different from regular, I pressed play again. The phone was halfway through the almost amusing message when someone hammered on my apartment door. The same voice as on my voicemail, only much grumpier, bellowed my name from the other side.

“Willow! Open up!”

My amusement fading, I scowled and marched for the door.

“What the hell is your problem?” I demanded as I yanked it open and he almost fell inside.

Straightening, he took in my fuzzy pants and baggy T-shirt, horror dawning on his face.

“Oh God, did I wake you up? I know you pregnant ladies need all the sleep.” He captured my arm and started herding me back toward my room.

“Oh my lord, you’re still drunk.”

“Probably,” he admitted. “My brothers and I went to the bar…and I drank it. Drunk it. Drinked it.” He shook his head. “Got fucked up.”

“So I break the news to you, you just leave, go get skunk-ass drunk and show up here still impaired? Oh and called me stupid. Not winning a lot of points, Cassel.”

“I took a cab.”

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