Page 1 of Accepted Precedent
Chapter 1
Evelyn
“He’s cute, but not my type,” I grumble, tossing back my watered-down, happy hour gin and tonic. I only have ten minutes until it ends, and I’m hoping to order two more before they’re full price.
To say tonight is a disappointment is an understatement. The bar is full of Grade D assholes—not the kind of dick I want inside me. Why is it so difficult to procure a decent one-night stand in D.C.?
“Oh, come on! He’s your type—like one of the Blake twins, but gay.”
“Andrew!” I swat his chest with the back of my hand, but nearly knock the beer out of his hand. “Oops! Sorry, but that is so fucked up.” He side-eyes me, pursing his lips. “Okay, you’re not wrong; he does look like Alex and Chris.And…now he’s making out with an even hotter guy. Damn it! How do you two always call it?” I groan. “I suppose it’s for the best. I need a man who can throw me around a little—he’s too skinny.”
“I’ll throw you around, angel,” Mickey teases with a wink, making all of us laugh.
“Aw, thanks, Mick.” I sigh wistfully, then whisper, “But I prefer men who enjoy pussy over cock.”
“Hey, I enjoy the occasional cunt too!”
“My apologies. Allow me to rephrase.” I clear my throat and am careful with my word choice—Mickey and Andrew have to keep their relationship quiet and I wouldn’t want anyone to overhear. The last thing Andrew needs is to be outed before he runs for a Maryland Senate seat next year. “I prefer men who aren’t dating my best friend.”
“Fair enough,” he chuckles into his whiskey.
“What about that guy over there?” I gesture with my glass to a man in a crisp navy suit near the bar, flashing a smile that easily cost him a few grand.
“You can do better,” Andrew insists.
Mickey agrees, “He’s a solid six. Don’t settle for less than a nine.”
“It’s just a hookup! I’m not going to marry the guy. A six with a huge cock works for me.”
Mick sets down his whiskey and glares at me. “Not when you can have a ten with a huge cock. Don’t. Settle.”
Over the past few years, I’ve become good friends with Mickey, but he’s always scared off any potential suitors. Physically, he isn’t a ten—he’s a damn twelve—towering over me at six-foot-five with a barrel chest and sinfully gorgeous emerald eyes that can see into your soul. The appeal isn’t only how attractive he is; Mick’s a savvy businessman who cares deeply about his friendsand family. A fighter, just like me. He’s a catch… but hopelessly in love with my best friend. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. If he was single, I’d be first in line to climb him like a tree.
Mick’s phone vibrates in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He retrieves it, frowns, then shows Andrew. “Fucking hell,” he grumbles as Andrew pinches the screen to zoom and read. “It’s not looking good.”
“What’s not looking good?” I ask curiously, raising my hand to get the bartender’s attention.
“It’s an email from a market research firm in New York. Andrew’s going to lose the Senate race, and there’s nothing I can do.” Mickey rakes his hand through his hair. “I can’t properly fund the campaign.”
I order another two gin and tonics with extra lime, then reach across Andrew to place my hand on Mickey’s forearm and squeeze once. “You’re his campaign manager, not his sugar daddy.” Mickey’s nostrils flare once. “I just mean you don’t need to fund his entire campaign. We’ll work harder to raise the money.”
Mickey covers my hand with his significantly larger one, eyes swirling with anger and sadness. “There’s no amount of money I can throw at it. His opponent is married with children. Andrew’s single and childless.”
“He’s not single,” I deadpan.
“He’s not married,” Mick counters with a cocked eyebrow.
Andrew lifts his gaze from the phone. “Heis right here. You know I can hear you, right?”
“Let me see the data.” I reach my hand out expectantly and Andrew passes it to me. One quick scan confirms Mickey’s right—Andrew will indeed lose. “Fuck. Okay, this is fixable. You two just need to get married.”
Mick leans over and scrolls the document to page twenty-eight. “He needs to marry a woman.”
“Well, that’s bullshit! Maryland is liberal. They don’t care if—” A low growl festering in Mickey’s chest cuts me off. “Okay, so we’ll find him a wife.”
“You saw what happened with Ileah Vasileiou,” Andrew groans. “She’s rumoured to marry Timothy McKinnon in the next year to appease her father. He’s a nice guy, but she’ll have to give up her career and everything she’s worked for. And did you see how much weight she lost this month? She’s not happy. I’m not going to be a political pawn and force some poor woman into a loveless marriage.”
The bartender sets my drinks in front of me. As I’m squeezing one of the limes into the drink, Mickey offers, “What about Evie?”
