Page 41 of Who's Your Daddy?

The look on Scott’s face gives me a level of satisfaction I’ve never felt before. I’m so glad I’m not the only one that has to suffer through these antics.

“Dyl, c’mon. That’s not necessary.”

“Oh, I think it is, Scott. I told you I’d use this as a gentle reminder one day.”

He presses play and from the first few drunken words Scott slurs out, I know this is going to be nuclear. Scott rags on Dylan for, like, four minutes straight, telling him that marrying Francesca was a terrible mistake. Scott warned him several times not to go through with the wedding because it was clear to both of us that he was still in love with Isabella.

But Dylan refused to listen, so theI-told-you-so’sin this voice note are running rampant. It takes a turn after that, and Scott tells him that he’s so fucked up because he found out Cat’s dating someone else. This is the part Dylan wants me to listen to because Scott truly is a drunken mess as he pours his heart out. It’s quite entertaining.

Both of them are such...simps. I don’t know how they allowed themselves to get so twisted over women. Hearing the hurt in my friend’s voice only reinforces my stance on relationships. It’s a hard pass from me.

“See that?” I say. “That’s the reason why I’ll never fall in love. Women are not worth that kind of trouble.”

We wait until all the girls have filed out of the room before we enter. We’ve done this a few times, so all three of us silently shuffle to the assigned spots. I do a few lunges, stretching my legs out while we wait for Tommy to arrive.

“I wouldn’t say that with so much confidence if I were you, Pete,” Dylan says. “Once a woman sinks her claws into you, you have no defenses, no control, so you better buckle up because I heard a rumor about you. You wanna know what I heard?”

“What?”

“Well, a little birdie told me that he saw...Peter and Lia sitting in a tree. K. I. S. S. I. N. G.”

I roll my eyes. He’s such a fucking asshole.

“Shut up, Dyl. Put the music on and let’s get this over with.”

7. Lia

“Peter, this is notthe time or the place for this.”

The push-door swings closed behind me. He quietly creeps alongside the wall until he reaches the edge, then peeps around the corner like some kind of secret spy. “It’s empty. C’mon.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me into the laundry room. My heels click against the tiles as I try to keep up with his brisk steps. My dress is quite an elegant piece. A one-shoulder bottle-green silk evening gown adorned with silver sequins and rhinestones around the midriff. It hugs every curve from my breasts to my hips, but flares out when it hits the slit midway down my thigh. It’s the perfect attire for this wedding, just not the ideal getup for racing through a laundry room. With my free hand, I gather the long edges to stop myself from tripping over.

“Did I tell you that you look incredible today?” he asks.

“Only about a hundred times.”

---