I say nothing as we get into the car.
“You think you’ll be happy with her?” Keir asks, his expression unchanging. Always hard and uncompromising.
“Is anyone happy with someone they don’t choose to marry?” I reply.
“Yes, and you know it.”
“Our mother was never happy. Our father was a power-hungry dick.” He’s well aware of this fact, since he is the one who ended up having to deal with our father.
“That was a different scenario.”
“You never married who you were meant to,” I point out. Again.
“Joey.”
“I’m just saying… you found a way out of it, why can’t I?” I look to Angelo, who has been silently taking in our exchange. “You want to marry a fiery little thing that reads romance books all day?”
“Married.” He holds up his hand, showing his wedding band.
“I hear two wives is where it’s at.”
He laughs at me, but Keir does not.
“What do you want to drink?” Keir opens the bar in the limo and pulls out a bottle of bourbon. I snatch it from him, twisting the lid and chugging as much as I can before I feel the need to throw up.
“My future wife also likes pussy. Who knew that was a possibility?” I fake laugh, the whiskey is talking for me now.
Angelo sits there, stunned into silence, and Keir merely shakes his head at me.
“Who even knows if she likes dick. But she ain’t touching this dick since she’s still fucking that little blonde.”
“Tell her to stop,” Keir says, looking at me like I’m dense since this is the obvious solution.
“No, because I plan to fuck whoever I want as well. So how would that be fair if I demanded that of her?”
“We don’t deal in fair,” Keir states simply.
“I kissed her today.”
“And…” Keir asks as I put the bottle back to my lips and take another two large mouthfuls, the burn slowly moving down until I don’t feel it anymore.
“She tastes like cinnamon,” I answer, my brows pinched.
“And that’s bad?” Angelo asks, and I swallow past the growing lump in my throat.
“It’s fucking terrible,” I say.
Because I want to taste more—but I don’t tell them that.
Keir’s phone rings, and he answers it straightaway. When he hangs up, I’m already halfway through the bourbon and well on my way to passing out and forgetting about tonight and that kiss.
“Seems your fiancée hasn’t shown up,” Keir states obviously having just spoken to Sailor.
“Go to her bookstore,” I tell him.
He instructs the driver, and our car pulls around.
“Why would she be there?” Angelo asks. “It’s late.”