“I didn’t say Ash has you a date. I said I have you a date. And I’ve got damn good taste. Have you met my wife? She’s fucking perfect.”
“And you know this girl?” I muse, semi-suspicious since the only woman he ever notices is his wife.
“Corbin Sterling knows her. She’s not one of his exes though. She’s a sister of a girl he dated. He said he was sending you a picture. And the girl knows her cars. She might know more than you.”
Doubtful.
I really don’t want to go on a damn date. I have plans. I’m dying to see Brin in the kitchen. No one has ever actually cooked dinner for me.
“Why tonight?”
“Because now that the initial shock of the baby is over, Ash is excited and she wants to celebrate with her friends. Of course you know Brin will be there. Ash was calling her before I left.”
I frown as his words resonate. “So Brin will be there all by herself.” Now it makes sense. “I see what you’re doing, and I’m not playing along. You think when I see Brin all alone that I’ll drop my date and go to her. Well, you’re right, but not because of the reasons you think. We’re friends, and I’m not going to ignore her for someone I don’t know. It sucks to be around a bunch of couples while you’re stag. That’s the only reason I let your relentless wife set me up with women at your functions. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not playing your game.”
I really hate his smirk. “No game. Ash said she’s setting Brin up on a date to make up for the bad date with Wren. So you’ll be all alone if you don’t go with the girl I’ve picked out for you.”
What the hell?
“And Brin said yes?” I ask, trying not to sound angry. This shouldn’t be pissing me off.
“Yep. So what’s it going to be?”
I glance at the time, and try not to let my jaw tick. Before we both crashed on the couch last night, we discussed hanging out at my place. Apparently she’s obsessed with my kitchen and wants to cook in there. Then she tells Ash she wants to go out on a date without even canceling on me?
“Fine. I’ll meet your girl.”
Tag smiles as though he has a secret, and then he walks out without saying another word.
Looking at the time, I decide to head home and get ready for my fucking date. She’d better be as perfect as Tag promised.
A text from the bastard I hate the most comes across the screen, and I groan when I read it. I should have just ignored it. This is quickly becoming the worst day I’ve had in a while.
Dad: Found three boxes of your things. Come get them or I’ll throw them away.
I just roll my eyes. Any time he gets a new wife, I suddenly have boxes pop up. In other words, he wants me to meet the latest gold-digging Barbie of the hour. Now I’ll have to make a stop on my way home to deal with Brin.
I knew this was coming, considering how many calls and texts I’ve ignored recently. Why did I read that message?
I grab Brin’s keys and drive the short distance to my father’s fucking massive house, and I head through the service entrance instead of the front. Unfortunately, he was expecting that.
“You could send someone a message letting them know you’re coming,” he says disapprovingly.
I couldn’t care less.
“You could just mail my stuff to me. I haven’t lived here in years, so I can’t imagine what else is left of mine.”
“The attic just got cleaned out. Found a bunch of your old photos and trophies. Some of it may be things you might want to go through and throw away. Some things you might want to keep.”
Trophies and photos.
“Just let me meet the new wife, and I’ll grab the boxes. We both know that’s why you really sent that message. How old is she? Is this one at least older than me?”
He frowns while taking a breath. “She’s older than you. I’m sorry you seem to be in such a foul mood, but at least try to be cordial.”
I cross my arms over my chest as I stare expectantly.
“She’s by the pool,” he says, finally.
I nod and start walking in the direction, every step making me sicker. I hate being inside this house. The walls are stained with too many memories that only fuck with my head.
Dad can’t seem to handle being here alone. But he’s never going to learn or care. None of them are ever going to be her. A young ass isn’t going to soothe the guilt.
Blonde, big chest, barely legal... There’s no way the girl sunning in a bikini and wearing stilettos is really older than me.
“Marilyn, this is Rye.”
Of course her name is Marilyn.
She slowly pulls her glasses down, and she doesn’t hide her eyes as they hungrily rake over me. Sick. Most all of them do this. Why can’t he find one single woman who cares about him enough to not eat me up the first time they meet me?