Page 150 of Making Choices

The three of them snicker.

Amusement brightens Nadia’s gaze.

“Argh, kill me now.” Holding down the hem of my t-shirt so I don’t flash them my panties or the new cuts at the top of my thighs, I flop onto my back. “It’s not like that.”

“Does that mean you’re messing around with both of them?”

Sera’s question has me stumbling back to my feet so I can swat at Nadia. “You told them.”

Although she stays silent, my best friend’s expression as she darts out of my reach is easy to read. She’s sold me out to the Moscato and Monet club. About the balcony at the penthouse and mine and Slash’s thing.

Two men, one night I regret.

“She’s slept with Sander—” I point at Nadia. “—and Cub at the same time, so I don’t know why I’m being judged so hard for having a thing with Slash months after Zeke dumped me.”

Like their heads are on swivels, the four women turn to look at Nadia.

She shrugs. “I neither confirm nor deny this allegation.”

“Lay off the lawyer speak,” I tell her. “That’s my speciality.”

“No one’s judging you,” Indi interjects. “Well, except for me, since I’m apparently the only one not riding multiple cocks at once, it seems.”

Raising my hand, I murmur, “I haven’t ridden any cock other than Zeke’s… me and Slash only dry humped.”

“How quaint,” Serena offers pleasantly. From her position seated primly on my bed, Sera nods archly with mocking agreement. “When do you plan on reaching third base?”

“Oh, shut up,” I tell her with a laugh as I swipe my phone from the nightstand. “It was a one-off thing that will never happen again.” My best friend hands me the bottle of water and two pills when I try to edge past her toward my door. Swallowing the pain relief, I peer at the time, then plaster a smile on my face. “I’ll get dressed, then meet you downstairs… Nads can help me rustle up a late lunch and we can plan our night.”

My best friend leads the other women out of my bedroom.

I duck into my bathroom to splash some water on my face.

The sight that greets me in the mirror is a shock.

I’m hungover as hell, shaky and wobbly on my feet, so neatly braided hair and a make-up free face are the last things I expected to see after the messy night I had. The t-shirt I’m wearing is another surprise. I duck my nose inside the neckline and inhale. It’s Slash’s. Just like my bed, it smells like him. Ignoring the squirmy feeling I get in my stomach at the idea of being covered in the big man’s scent, I check my hamper and discover the leather pants and top I wore last night. My thigh-high boots are missing, but I bet I’ll find them in their designated spot on my shoe racks.

When my attention is drawn to the shower cubicle, a vision flashes into my head.

Slash in wet boxer shorts, soaping me up in the shower after I’d puked all over myself. His velvety voice is full of apology as he explains that he has to stay away from me for my own good. Thick fingers scraping through my hair as he braids the damp locks away from my face. A feather-light kiss to my forehead as he tucks me into bed.

That can’t be right?

He hasn’t said a word to me in a week.

When I finally venture downstairs, dressed in leggings and a clean t-shirt that doesn’t smell like a man who can’t stand the sight of me, I find the girls hard at work. Crystal has taken over the kitchen and she’s dishing out orders in her usual no-nonsense tone.

“Mo ulaidh bheag,” she greets me with a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Take those dishes outside. Tell the boys to set up the trestle tables.”

After I grab the pile of plates and cutlery, I inhale deep, bracing myself to come face to face with Slash. I’m immediately disappointed when I discover that he’s not here, then I mentally kick myself for being so stupid.

It’s good that he’s not home.

I don’t want to see him until he takes the giant stick out of his arse.

Do I?

“Mumma C said to set the table,” I tell Isaiah and Everett. The ever-efficient prospect gives me a nod then takes the plates from me. My brother just scowls when I offer him the cutlery. Cocking my head to the side, I call him out on his bullshit. “What’s wrong? I thought you said you were fine. Surely, setting the table is easy, especially for someone who reckons he doesn’t need PT for his injuries.”

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