Page 83 of Tobias

“That’s in violation of the contract you signed.”

Had Iseen his name on a request, I would have forwarded it to Foxy and made sure she banned him. I never thought he would stoop so low…

“Are you going to sue me?” he asks.

“Maybe I will.”

Shrugging again, he says, “Have fun trying. You know I’ll drag that entire business through the mud, making Foxy wish she never met you.”

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. He’s not lying. His family is wealthy, and even though Foxy is too, there are plenty of things we do that we shouldn’t do that he could dig up and potentially ruin her business with. And in turn, ruin a lot of people’s lives. The guys who work for her rely on that money to survive. She relies on it to survive!

“Why, Brandon?” It’s all I can think of to say instead of telling him to run into traffic.

“You wouldn’t agree to come, so this was the only other option.”

“I didn’t agree because I didn’t want to come with you. This is exactly why I hate you. You know that, right? You’re a manipulative bastard,” I growl.

“Brandon Arnoult, is that you?” an older gentleman says as he steps up to us, offering his hand to Brandon like he’s looking at Jesus. “Goodness, it’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”

“You as well, Tanner. This is my date, Tobias.” He gestures to me, and because Foxy is on the line, I put on a smile andoffer my hand. It’s shaking, so I try my hardest to calm the hell down.

“My wife is around here somewhere,” Tanner says, making a show of looking around before bringing his gaze back to Brandon. “So how are you? Will we be seeing you any time soon?”

“It’s possible,” Brandon answers easily. “My father wanted me to wait until everything was finalized, but I’ll likely stop by in the new year.”

“Wonderful. I hope to see you then. Have a lovely evening.”

“You too,” he says.

If Brandon were someone I liked, I’d ask him what that was about, but I don’t fucking care. Seeing him interact kindly with someone has only made me more angry. How dare he pretend to be a nice person?

“If you try talking to me for even a second after tonight, I will get a fucking restraining order. You’ve gone too far,” I hiss before walking off and squeezing through some people to get to the bar. If I’m going to deal with him tonight, I need to be drunk.

I stare down at the words typed out on my phone, finger hovering over the send button but too afraid to send it.

I miss you.

It’s too much. And I’m drunk. Maybe I only miss Theo because I’m drunk and Brandon is an asshole. I’d rather be in the bowels of hell than here with him, so of course being with Theo would be better.

I really do miss him though. I shouldn’t tell him that I miss him. I’m the one keeping boundaries here and saying things like this will grey them. I’m the one who said this is a friends with benefits only situation. That I don’t do the relationship thing—and won’t. I told him he better not fall in love with me, yet… I really,reallylike the guy.

But you can miss friends, right? Even if you’re fucking them? It doesn’t have to be a romantic thing…right?

Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know!

I lean back on the toilet, not using it in any way other than to hide from Brandon, who is annoying the hell out of me. While we sat at the dinner table, he put his hand on my leg four times, and I slapped him away each time. I told him if he did it again, I would not hesitate to stab him with my steak knife. I guess he believed me, because he didn’t do it again.

Being drunk around Brandon is dangerous. Not because I’m worried about doing anything with him, but I don’t want him to see me vulnerable or with my walls down. He doesn’t deserve those parts of me. Not after he ruined them all. Theo deserves those things. He deserves someone to treat him well, make him smile, and fuck him hard just the way he wants.

My dick thickens at the thought of him beneath me, my dick buried in his tight ass. I can already imagine how he’s going to respond to me, and fuck, I really want that.

Screw it.

I hit send and shove my phone into my pocket once I stand and get my balance. I leave the stall, wash my hands and head back to the event. When I get to my table, Brandon is deep in conversation with the fire chief, who we were sat with. His wife is with us, along with a pop singer from the area and her date, who I think may be a football player.

Dessert waits for me, some kind of tiny chocolate thing that wouldn’t fill a toddler. The worst part about these events is the food.

It’s not about portion size, it’s about quality.

---