Page 124 of Tangled Like Us
Donnelly laughs hard. He’s eating a bowl of cereal at 10 p.m.—in nothing but black boxer-briefs, a sleeve of tattoos and pierced nipples in view.
I weave my arms over my chest. Stoic. Staying quiet. I’m not someone who usually joins in with them, and Oscar and Donnelly won’t be quick to include me, not after I punched Farrow.
It’s my fault.
My mistake.
But I’m not cowering or shying away from them. I’m here. Quiet—but here.
“Pity blowjobs are better than fake fucking a girl.” Donnelly shovels a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.
“Thatcher would know,” Farrow says. It sounds too easygoing to be a real dig at me.
My brows knit, surprised and somewhatconfusedas to why they’re including me all of a sudden. My expression hardens.They could be fishing.Just to see what’s going on with me and Jane. I didn’t think they would because they don’t care about me personally.
But they do care about her.
I fix my gaze on the door across from us. “I’m not going to talk about my client and sex.”
Farrow puts a piece of gum in his mouth. “I think you mean ‘fake’ sex.”
My muscles burn, tendons straining in my neck, but I manage to nod in agreement.Stoic.Walled-off. Focused on the fucking door.
Donnelly wipes milk off his chin. “Why not talk ‘bout it? We already know you’ve had sex outside a Walmart.”
Because of drinking games.I don’t care that they fucking know this. “That wasn’t about Jane, who’s my client.”
“He doesn’t fake-fuck and tell,” Farrow quips. Unknowingly saving my ass.
Donnelly smirks. “What aboutreal-fuck and tell?”
I shake my head.
Oscar fixes pieces of his ruffled hair. “If Moretti really fucked his client, there’d be consequences.”
My pulse solidifies like cement in my veins. I’m not looking at them.
Farrow blows a bubble and pops it in his mouth. “Yeah, we’d have to get Donnelly to tattoohypocriteon his ass.”
If that’s what it took to make things right with him, I’d fucking do it.
The elevator along the hallwaydings.The three of them go quiet.
We all watch a few women in their late-twenties spill into the hall. Wearing business-casual dresses like they work for some upper crust law firm in New York.
They laugh loudly, and then the tall brunette asks, “What’s Talia’s apartment number?”They’re visiting someone.Can’t be residents then.
Slowly, they begin to walk past us and their chatter dies down. Most of the women are checking out Oscar.
The Oliveira brothers probably get the most ass of anyone on the team. I’m straight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see that they’re good-looking men.
They keep moving past, and their eyes start to dart between Farrow and me. Recognizing us.
Donnelly calls out to them through a mouthful of cereal, “Hey, wanna be my Valentine?”
The brunette glares. “Go fuck yourself.”
Farrow sucks in a breath. “You’re too late. He already did that last night.”
