FOUR
Ryan/Dane
“If I could get away with murder, I’m telling you right now that my ex-wife would be at the top of my hit list.” My best friend, Michael, slid me a beer on Monday night.
He’d lured me here with the promise of football and beer, but the television still wasn’t on, and he’d started ranting the moment I stepped into his home.
Not only that, but all six of his toddlers—three sets of twin boys, were running around and screaming in the other room.
This is what I get for coming here.
“Who would be at the top of your hit list?” he asked.
“You if you continue inviting me over here and starting every conversation with this shit,” I said. “Where is the remote?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “This isn’t much of a guys’ night at all, is it?”
It hasn’t been for years. “Not at all.”
“Well, let me see if I can make it up to you by setting you up on a blind date with another one of my colleagues.”
“I’d rather you find the remote.”
“In a second,” he said, pulling out his phone. “In a second.”
I stood up and decided to search for it on my own. I knew that whoever he tried to set me up with this time would be an automatic hell no.
I was still recovering from the last three disasters whom I’d come to refer to as Miss ‘I Like to Lick Butt Plugs,’ Miss ‘I’m a Needy Psychopath,’ and Miss ‘Can I Call You Daddy?’
He’d relished in my disaster stories, all while promising that the next one would be better. He felt so damn compelled to help me find someone due to his suffocating sense of guilt.
Michael was the very reason why I moved to Spokane in the first place.
We were both miserable in Florida while going through divorces at the same time, and after he left and swore that the West Coast was better, I followed suit. He vowed to show me all the perks of the single life in this city, said that we’d both be able to live out our new bachelor dreams, but six months after I arrived, he fell in love and got married soon after.
I’d been wading the waters of single-life all alone ever since.
Even though I was now looking for something a bit more serious, I had yet to meet a woman who made me want to go past the first date.
“I know that you want someone on your level, but it’s going to be very hard to find another multi-millionaire,” he said, still scrolling on his phone. “I do know a Linda and a Jamie who are very attractive and hardworking. They are the type of women you like.”
“Right now, I’d like to see the first half of the football game.” I tuned him out and continued looking, hoping the remote would turn up and save me from this conversation ASAP.
Sliding a hand under the chaise cushion, I felt something hard, but it wasn’t the remote. It was a stack of picture frames.
I pulled them out and raised my eyebrow at the picture in the first one. Michael was standing next to a sexy-ass woman at what appeared to be a masquerade ball. Her face was covered in a glittering purple mask, but her perfect body was on full display.
Her huge breasts sat under her shimmering pink bra, and her tight black shorts exposed her long legs. Her curly dark hair was pulled into a long ponytail that touched her bare shoulders.
I pressed my finger against her curvy thighs, then I trailed it down to her ankles. I couldn’t help but envision her legs wrapped tightly around my waist—her sparkling silver stilettos digging into my back as we fucked.
The words “Thanks for meeting me at my first Mardi Gras! New Orleans is amazing!” were scrawled in the bottom corner in white, and as I stared at the picture a bit more, I noticed that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.
The picture was dated for a few years ago, but I refused to believe that he’d ever had an affair with this woman. Even so, I didn’t think he was stupid enough to hide the evidence in plain sight.
“Who the hell is this?” I asked, holding up the frame. “And is Eliza fine with you framing pictures of yourself with other women in this house?”
“Huh?” His head snapped up. “I’m in framed pictures with other women?’
“You heard me,” I said, walking over to him and holding it in front of his face. “That’s definitely you, and this woman isn’t Eliza, so—”
“That’s Christina.” He shrugged, laughing. “I thought I told you about randomly surprising her at Mardi Gras a while back. She was complaining about not having any friends to travel with, so I showed up, and we made a thing of it. Good times.”