Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
I racked my brain for something positive to say about Seb. A lot came to mind, but I went with the one thing everyone noted the first time they met him. “Seb is beautiful.”
Oliver’s head snapped up. He glanced at the door as if he expected Sebastian to waltz in any second without invitation.
Frankie licked her lips. “I just knew he’d be the more delicious von Bismarck.”
“You’ve never even seen him.” Dallas stole a scallop from her sister’s plate, then a prawn from her husband’s. “You’ve known of his existence for point two seconds.”
“And what a glorious point two seconds it has been.” She leaned toward me. “Tell me more.”
“He’s ripped,” I started. “Absolutely shredded. Wildly competitive. Funny in a weird, hate-the-world kind of way. Freakishly smart without even trying. Whenever he enters a room, I swear every head turns in his direction.”
With every description, Oliver tensed. I’d never seen him so … upset. Not that he didn’t do a stellar job of hiding it. But I’d known this man all our lives, seen every nook and cranny of him, and held him as he grieved his grandma. Oliver was upset. Maybe he’d gotten in a blow-out fight with his brother. Seb did have a lot of bark to his bite.
I decided to change the subject, turning to Dallas. “Tell me a little about yourself. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a stay-at-home mom.”
“And before?”
“A stay-at-home hostage.”
“Oh-kay.” I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t, so I focused on her husband. “And you?”
“I’m an international arms dealer.”
The knife clutched between my fingers clattered to the tiles. “Like … actual guns?”
“And tanks, and missiles, and fighter jets.” He flashed me a predator’s smile, all sharp teeth. “If you’re ever in the market for an M67 grenade, you know where to find me.”
“Oh. Okay.” I hid my horror with a forced smile, shifting my attention to Farrow. “And you?”
“An athlete.”
Finally. Someone normal.
“What sport?”
“Fencing. Well, former fencer. I got caught cheating. It was a whole scandal. Team USA almost dropped me, but I quit anyway and became a coach.”
Oh. My. God. These were my best friends? Were any of these people normal? Zach. It had to be Zach. Oliver once told me he was a total square with no funny bone in his body. (“That would require f-u-n, and he’s allergic to that.”)
I swiveled to Zach. “And you?”
“I dabble in investments.”
“Any companies I know?”
“Dot Cum.”
“Dot Come?” I frowned, racking my brain and coming up short. Must’ve been new. “What’s that?”
“The largest porn site in America.”
No one. Not one of them. Not a single normal person. Not even Frankie, who’d apparently crashed my job and set a fire.
I stared straight at Oliver, who avoided my gaze, even when I kicked his shin under the table. He winced but kept his eyes trained into the bottom of his wine glass.
“It’s such a great site, too. Throbbin’ Hood 7.” Frankie bunched her fingers together and kissed them. “Chef’s kiss.” She shook her head, disappointment tainting her pretty face. “And they say sequels are dead …”
“Well, this has been a lovely dinner.” Oliver faked a smile, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Aren’t you all glad to welcome back our best friend?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oliver
What a shit show.
It dawned on me that my friends were as reliable as one-ply toilet paper. Sure, I trusted them to get me to the hospital during a heart attack. Or bulk up my investment portfolio enough to make the IRS weep.
But I should never have trusted them with Briar – and certainly not when that trust required them to be something they would never be. Normal.
The second I shoved the five of them out of the foyer and onto my driveway, I slammed the door shut, not bothering with the lock. Frankie had, indeed, broken it. Fabulous. My paranoid housemate would kill me if someone waltzed into the house, charged up the stairs, and discovered him moping in the south wing.
“Oliver.”
“So tired.” I yawned, slurring my words, my back still to Briar. “We should sleep early.”
“Why is Sebastian backpacking across Europe?”
“Asia, actually.” I made a show of swaying on our trip to the master bedroom. “Bali, as of two days ago.”
“He should be at the Olympics.”
“Baby, those only happen every four years.”
“I’m serious.” Briar panted, unable to keep up with my purposefully long steps. “What do your parents say about this?”
“Nothing. They love him. He’s the Password Child.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means his name is their password for everything.” I swung open the bedroom door and plopped onto the bed, kicking my shoes off and flinging them wherever gravity sent them. “It’s a miracle their bank accounts haven’t been drained by hackers, really.”
“You’re keeping something from me.”
I am.
Once a bastard, always a bastard.
Instead of answering, I snored loud, groaning in my fake-sleep. She huffed out her frustration and charged away. A minute later, I heard the pitter-patter of the showerhead. By the time she tucked herself into bed and fell asleep, I remained wide awake.