“And you were talking to Apple Ames…why, exactly?”
“We hang out every once in a while.”
I pick my jaw up from the bar again. “You what?”
“There’s a little history there.”
“Yeah, but you know damned well—”
“Easy, Bray. Jeez. We get together. We shoot the breeze about nothing in particular.”
“And…?”
“Yeah. We fuck. What’s wrong with that?”
“I thought you were seeing that other woman. Morgan something or other.”
Ben takes a sip of his water. “That? That’s over.”
This isn’t entirely bad news. At least now I don’t have to have the Come to Jesus talk with my brother about gold-digging women. Morgan What’s Her Name had “get a prenup” written on her forehead.
That’s where the “not bad news” part of this ends, though. Ben got together with Apple Ames, Addie’s twin sister. Yeah, they had a thing once. But Ben and I had an agreement. At least I thought we did.
“The Ames sisters are off-limits,” I say. “Or did you forget about that when you got a chance to get laid?”
“Apple is as casual as they come,” he says. “She doesn’t want anything from me, and I don’t want anything from her. Other than the occasional fuck. She’s a tigress in the sack, so…”
“If it’s a fuck you want, you don’t have to get it from Apple Ames.”
“Apple’s not Addie,” Ben says. “She’s the anti-Addie and then some.”
“Still, with our history…”
“Bray, honest. She’s not
her sister. She can’t even stand Addie. Which is why she was only too eager to tell me how pissed off Addie is that you’re dating her assistant.”
“Not dating. And how does she even know?”
“Hell if I know.”
A plate of freshly shucked oysters appears in front of me. I inhale their tangy brininess. Not that I give a shit anyway. I’ll see whomever I please. I’ve never cared what Addison Ames thinks of any decision I make. I rarely give her a thought, except when one of her posts comes up in my feed. Ordinarily, I scroll on by.
Why did that one coffee post irk me so much?
I have no clue, but I’m glad it did. It led me to Skye Manning.
“Apple says Addie’s seeing red about it. I swear to God, more than ten years and the woman’s still hung up on you.”
“She’s not,” I say.
“I know that’s what you want to think, but why else would she care about you dating her assistant? What’s her name, anyway?”
“Skye.” My lips curve upward slightly just saying her name. Damn.
I pick up an oyster, dab a bit of the red sauce on it, and slide it into my mouth. For a split second, I’m lost in the spicy tang.
Then I swallow.