Thump.
Matthew waves his hand calmly. “Only for, like, twenty minutes. They released the girls to our custody—no charges were filed. I smoothed things over with the strip club.”
Going with the usual-suspect line of thought, I turn on Delores. “What did you do to get Kate arrested?”
She just laughs. “You can thank your sister for that one—Alexandra didn’t appreciate her husband getting so much attention from the strippers. When one of them got in her face, Lexi showed her what was up—and the rest of us had her back. I’ll say this much: for a trust-fund baby, the Bitch has got a mean right hook.”
This is not news to me.
“Jesus Christ,” I sigh. “All right, forget all that—just tell me where Kate is.”
Dee looks confused. “What do you mean? She’s in your room.”
Thump.
Before I can point out that Kate is not, in fact, in our room, one of the bedroom doors opens. Erin steps out, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, her hair wet. “Good morning, everyone!”
“Hey, naughty girl,” Dee greets her.
Erin steps into the kitchen. “Mmm . . . coffee.”
And prepare to have your mind blown—because in the bedroom doorway Erin just exited appears none other than . . . Jack O’Shay.
Shirtless. Wearing only boxers.
No way.
He stretches his arms wide above his head with a yawn, then scratches his chest and adjusts his balls. “What a great fucking night, huh? I’m actually sad you’re only getting married once, Evans. I could definitely do that again.”
Please look closely at my face. Did my eyeballs fall out of my head? ’Cause it feels like they have.
I look at Matthew. He just nods and flicks his hand, silently telling me, What are you gonna do?
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
As Erin sticks her head into the refrigerator behind us, Jack stands next to me. In a low voice I ask, “Did you . . . is this . . .”
“Is this what you think it is?” He grins like a well-fed feline. “It is, and I did.” Then, softer, he says, “Erin’s a wildcat, man. Easily made the top three bangs of my lifetime. I’ll fill you in later.”
If this ends up causing Erin to not be my secretary in the near future—I’m going to have to kill Jack. Seriously. I can always find more friends. Finding a secretary who knows her shit as well as Erin does? That’ll be much more difficult.
Erin comes back into the room sipping her coffee. Jack grabs a newspaper off the table and announces, “I’ll be in the john.” Before he goes, he adds, “Hey, Erin—how about you bring me a cup of coffee for when I get out?”
Erin smiles sweetly. “Hey, Jack—how about you get it yourself? This isn’t the office, and even if it was, I don’t work for you.”
Jack just chuckles and goes back into the bedroom.
Thump.
I turn to stare at Erin. My voice is teasingly aghast as I say, “Erin. I am shocked. I can’t believe you let Jack play you—I thought you were smarter than that.”
She clears her throat. “Did you ever consider the possibility that I’m the one who played Jack?”
I touch my jaw thoughtfully because, no, I hadn’t considered that.
Thump.
Erin continues, “I came here hoping to meet Mr. Right, but he didn’t appear. Jack is cute, and, more important, he was ready, willing, and able. You do the math.”
“But isn’t that going to be weird for you, working in the same office every day? He’s seen your cum face.” I pause. “At least . . . I hope he’s seen your cum face.”
Erin winks. “He’s well acquainted with it.” She sips her coffee. “But, no, it’s not going to be awkward. We’re adults—and what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?”
“I guess so.”
Unless you’re Billy Warren. In his case, what happens in Vegas may end up taking 50 percent of his net worth.
With that, Erin goes back to the kitchen, pours a second cup of coffee, and returns to the bedroom Jack retreated to, closing the door behind her.
I shake my head a little. “Wow.”
I’m about to ask Matthew and Dee where Kate is again—but that rhythmic knocking noise starts back up. Do you hear it too?
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“What the hell is that noise?”
Like those disturbing twins from The Shining, my best friend and his wife answer in harmony yet again. “Steven and Alexandra.”
The racket does seem to be coming from behind their closed door. “What are they, nailing each other to a cross?”
Matthew mutters, “Something’s getting nailed all right.”
Thump.
Cautiously, I step toward their door. When I’m inches away, I align my ear with the seam at the hinge. Listening.
“Who’s your daddy, baby? Say it, say my name.”
“Steven, ooohhh, Steven.”
Then the unmistakable sound of a palm slapping ass reaches my ear.