It made a dent. At least she had that going for her. No woman had managed to do that before.
Rosie took a tentative sip of her coffee, reeking of indifference. "Hmm," she said. "This tastes good."
She didn't mean the coffee. She meant watching the side effects of me being a manslut. But she did that little moan thing. Again.
This is so on, Rosie LeBlanc, I thought. I'm going to drag you by the hair to the dark side, and you have no fucking clue.
"Let's cut to the chase, sweetheart. You're flying with me to Todos Santos on Friday." I fished the scoop of the whey protein from its container, mixing up the powder with fat-free milk. You don't get to look like me from scarfing junk food all day. I made things happen. No matter the price. At the gym, at work, at being a sweet, perfect son. Everything was calculated and earned the hard way. No shortcuts for me. It's been like this from a young age, but I didn't know anything different. To them-to Rosie, her sister, my friends-I was this lucky asshole who was born with a silver spoon shoved so fucking deep in his mouth, he never had to lift a finger and work. I let them think that. No harm in being underestimated.
I heard Rosie shuffling on the high stool by the island and knew she wasn't going to go down without a fight. For a sick girl, she was feisty as fuck.
"Millie has already asked me. The price difference is two hundred bucks for a ticket. It's just the rehearsal, dude. It's not like I'll miss the actual wedding."
The actual wedding was on Sunday, but most attendees-Jaime, Trent, and me included-were flying into Todos Santos on Friday, staying a full week and a half and cramming a rehearsal dinner, a bachelor/bachelorette party, and the wedding into one, out-of-control escapade. We were a tight-knit group. Abnormally so. Whenever we could spend a good chunk of time together, we jumped on the opportunity. Rosie was strapped for cash by choice. Her sister was marrying one of the richest men in America. I appreciated how Baby LeBlanc wasn't the type of girl to leech on someone else's purse-she did get the nearly free apartment and amenities, and also got her meds paid for-but she worked hard for everything else. And made the time to change dirty diapers and greet guests at a children's hospital a few times a week. She was a keeper, but I didn't need a reminder of that.
"You're the maid of honor." I turned to face her, leaning a hip against the counter. Her eyes were fixed on my bulging bicep as I shook my drink. It moved back and forth like a tennis ball. She licked her lips, shaking her head, probably to get rid of the mental image of me slapping her ass with the same muscular arm.
"I understand the gravity of the role, and I'm perfectly capable of walking in a straight line in uncomfortable shoes for two minutes while holding her dress. You do realize that's the only thing my part entails, right?"
"What about a bachelorette party?" I rubbed my naked abs to try to make her moan or lick her lips again, tossing back my head and taking a gulp of the cookie and caramel drink that tasted nothing like cookies or caramel and everything like rotten ass.
"What about it?" She challenged, her gaze hard on my face.
"Who is planning Millie's? Shouldn't that be the maid of honor's role, too?"
"It's under control, and it's going to be epic. Why? Are you planning Vicious's party?" she asked, surprised. She angled her body forward, her small, perky tits squeezing together inside her bra. I grunted, feeling my cock swelling inside my low-riding sweatpants.
From the outside, it looked like Vicious and I had a shit-ton of issues. Truth was, our friendship was strong. It was different from the normal brotherhood the rest of the guys had, but it was solid.
"I am. Jaime is helping, too. We're doing a weekend in Vegas."
"Classy." Her smile was condescending.
"Well, we considered not giving a fuck and bailing on our friend's rehearsal dinner, but then you came and stole our idea. What crawled up your little perky ass, anyway? Are you jelly your older sister's getting hitched?"
She spun in her seat, and when I saw her face, something tightened in my chest. Great going, jackass. Whatever I said affected her enough to drain the blood from her face.
"Shut up, Ruckus. I'm just wondering if what I have planned is fancy enough. I was going for a slumber party of some sort. With a special playlist and all." Unsure flaky eyes asked for my opinion. It was unlike her. Rosie was usually burning with self-confidence, and it felt like shit to be the one who put her flame out.
"Slumber party, ah?" I walked past her just so I could brush my fingers against her waist. By accident, of course. "Millie is a low-key chick. Can't see a reason why she wouldn't dig it."
"I'll tell you why, because you're doing Vegas. Now I need to up my game," she complained, helping herself to a second cup of coffee without asking.