“Wow. What did y’all talk about for a month?”
“Not cars,” I impatiently supply.
“Maybe you should’ve…”
I tighten my grip on her and steal her breath. Some of my irritation slips when I speak again.
“Listen, Sprite. Tell me what the fuck I need to know or all throw your little ass over my shoulder in front of all high society and carry you out of here. I’m sure I can generate enough talk for us to be in a twisted love triangle by the time we make it to the parking lot. Good luck with dating after that.”
Her eyes grow in horror then narrows to slits. “Respect. You win this round, you big ass bully. Sleep with one eye open. She has a white Range Rover.”
“Any special stops if she happens to be upset?”
“What did you do that fast,” she challenges me in a whisper.
“Stay in your lane, sis. Just answer the question.”
“She likes the dessert bar in town near our office.”
“Is dessert her comfort food?”
Parts of her rant from the night before reminded me to ask Esme that question.
“Yes, and no. If she’s a little upset (mad or sad) general dessert, she’s not picky, hence the dessert bar. DEFCON level bitch means ‘I have PMS bring brownies with no nuts’. And ‘I’m having a terrible day I just want to go to sleep and try again tomorrow’ means she wants white cheddar mac and cheese with bacon.”
“Got it. Congratulations, you’re the host of the event.”
Spinning her out of my hold, I’m gone before anyone can realize it.
Chapter 12
Karessa
Planning a wedding is a lot of work. I went into it aware of the work involved since I am the wedding and event planner for most of high society. But solely planning the wedding and being the bride is a nightmare. Sure, everything worked out, and it was a beautiful ceremony, but knowing I now share a permanent home with an asshole who’s stuck on withholding sex is enough to infuriate me. I’m a little jealous of Ainslee’s ability to display her vexation with Jagger publicly. The lord knows if I were wired that way, I would have Homer Simpson choked the hell out of that big ‘in name only’ jackass. The same jackass who fooled me into thinking he was letting me in only to convert back to Hell.
I take another shot of spiked chocolate and drizzle it on the tier of vanilla raspberry cake I swiped from the wedding. I wasn’t going to lose my favorite tier because I’m over the groom. He and the rest of the wedding can kiss my ass.
“You know, the bride is supposed to run away before she gets married.”
Damn, his sexiness still has the power to stun me, but the desire to throat punch him remains.
“Why do you care? I left you alone just like you wanted.”
“People were worried about you.”
Yeah, everyone but him.
“Don’t do that again. I don’t like not knowing where you are,” he complains as he grabs my fork and steals a bite of my dessert.
“Why do you care? You don’t want me around.”
He puts the fork down, pushes the plate aside, and leans across the table to get into my space. The memories of the way his lips felt on my body has me shifting in my seat.
“The why doesn’t matter. Don’t make disappearing a habit. Understand?”
“Fuck you,” I retort. Grabbing the only thing that gives me pleasure, I continue to eat.
Oran lost his jacket and tie between now and the last time I saw him dancing with my sister. His open buttons make me fantasize about the chest I haven’t seen naked yet. Sitting back in his chair, he slightly spread his legs, sinking deeper into his seat.