Page 17 of Scout
What the actual fuck?
I pause just past the entrance, hidden behind a group of chatty board members. Scout’s laughing at something, hand resting lightly on Xavier’s arm like they’ve known each other for years and not just a short time. And Xavier—he’s showing him off. Introducing him around like Scout didn’t just attend the gala on my arm.
What’s the angle? Is this supposed to be some kind of message? A power play? Does he want people to believe Scout’sjust a regular date, and I was the idiot who brought a rent-a-date to a black-tie event?
He knows I fucked him. I’m not stupid. I know Xavier saw it all over me. And yeah—Scout’s time was paid for, but the sex wasn’t. That’s not how Foxy’s works. It’s not a brothel. It’s... whatever the employee makes of it. Don’t ask, don’t tell.
But this? This is a damn strategic game.
I make my way to the bar and order a whiskey. Neat. Something sharp to remind me who the hell I am. I lean back and sip, watching from across the room as Xavier introduces Scout to a couple of senior surgeons like they didn’t just see that same pretty blond hanging offmyarm.
Fucking idiot.
Every once in a while, I catch Xavier glancing at him. Not the casual kind of glance either—the kind that lingers. And it shouldn’t matter. He’s not mine. Not anymore. We ended for a reason. He couldn’t give me what I needed. I wanted something solid. Real. And Xavier... he was incapable of being that.
Still, jealousy burns low in my gut. Twisted up with something else. Something darker. Maybe desire. Maybe just that masochistic urge to touch a bruise and see if it still hurts.
I drain the last of my drink and hand the glass off.
Fine.
If Xavier wants to act like this is all casual—as if he’s the one pulling the strings—then fine. I’ll play along.
I grab three drinks from the bar. Whiskeys for me and Xavier. A martini for Scout.
I cross the room as if I own it, stepping into their little duo with practiced ease—where I belong.
"Gentlemen," I say smoothly, handing off the drinks. My gaze meets Scout’s first. Then Xavier’s. "So nice to see you both tonight."
We stand there, the three of us, caught in this awkward little triangle of polite smiles and forced ease. Every word feels stretched thin, wearing a second skin tight with the weight of everything unsaid. No one moves. No one blinks. The air between us buzzes, thick with the tension of waiting for someone to drop the first real punchline.
"Didn’t expect to see you here," Xavier says coolly.
"I work at Evanridge Medical," I reply. "This is a work party, remember?"
Scout hums, sipping his martini. "Well, the drinks are good and the company’s... layered."
Xavier raises a brow. "That what we’re calling it now?"
Scout shrugs, effortless. "I call it how I see it."
I laugh under my breath. It’s petty, but it’s sexy. Scout’s completely at ease, unbothered by either of us. It makes me want to bend him over the chaise behind me and fuck the smug look off his face until he admits he took this booking just to see me again.
Because Xavier might think this is some move in a game, but I’m pretty sure this is something else entirely.
Xavier’s the one to break the moment. "I’m gonna get another drink," he says. "You guys need anything?"
I blink. I didn’t even notice my glass was empty.
I hand mine over. "Whiskey, neat."
"Martini. Extra olives," Scout adds, still calm, still smiling.
Xavier nods and walks off.
The second he’s out of earshot, I grab Scout’s hand and tug him into a small alcove off the hallway, beside a gaudy statue of some half-naked marble man that Maddoc probably paid way too much for.
"What the fuck, Scout?" I hiss.
