Page 222 of Santa Daddies
Or is it the fact that she betrayed you?
He hadn’t seen it. Had been completely blindsided.
“She pretended to be so innocent,” he spat out. “Sweet and kind. God, she was a good actor. I thought she didn’t recognize me.”
Which made him an even bigger idiot.
“Because maybe she didn’t,” Joey told him as the door opened.
For one moment, his heart gave a leap thinking that it was going to be Alice. Instead, Miles walked into the cabin.
You drove her away. Why would she return?
And good riddance too. He hoped that she had some semblance of a conscience left. That she might feel just a tiny bit of guilt.
“I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid as to believe her story.” He ran his hand over his face. “Gonna have to contact my shithead of a lawyer and see if there’s anything that can be done to stop this story.”
“That shithead of a lawyer is our best friend,” Miles said mildly.
“He’s still a shithead,” he grumbled. “Charges an arm and a leg. Joey, pass me my phone, will you? It’s on the table.”
“What?”
“Will you pass me my phone? My leg fucking hurts and I don’t want to get up.”
“Um, sure.” Joey shot a look at Miles.
“What?” Anson barked.
“Nothing,” Joey said quickly as he grabbed his phone and handed it to Anson.
“What?” Anson asked again.
“You just never ask me to do anything,” Joey said quietly.
“That a problem?” Anson asked grouchily. “If it is, I won’t ask again.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Miles told him. “You know it’s not a fucking problem. Christ, we’ve spent so much time trying to get you to ask us for anything . . . only for you to throw that back in our face. You can give us a few minutes to get used to the Anson who asks for help. Right?”
“Just wanted my damn phone.” But there was a twinge of something inside him . . . something that felt like guilt.
Maybe gratitude.
These guys hadn’t left him. They hadn’t abandoned him even when they should have. Even when he was being a complete asshole.
Which was pretty much always.
“Is this what you found?” Joey held up the book that was on the table.
“Yep. Found it in her room. She’s made notes about this place. About me.”
Joey frowned as he looked through the book. “Ever thought that this wasn’t notes about you, but a diary?”
“Who writes a diary like that?” Although he hadn’t actually looked beyond what she’d written about him. “Is there other stuff in there?”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s a diary exactly. More like ideas and thoughts? She’s got . . . she’s . . . shit . . .” Joey read some more and irritation flooded him.
Why hadn’t he read the rest of the damn book?
