Page 103 of Rider Daddies
The first: At my wedding.
The second: Now.
I extend my vision to Ryder and see him give me a nod.
English? Please? Someone?
Why has he let her in?
I look back at my ex best friend and see a tear slip from her eye.
I want to believe that it’s the guilt getting the best of her again, but the amount of tears that are soon falling down her cheeks has me thinking otherwise.
This seems more life-threatening than guilt.
“Willow? What’s the matter?”
The snapping of fingers has my attention at the door again. Ryder gives me a firm look, the kind of look that would have me wet through my panties if it wasn’t for Willow sobbing her rotten heart out in front of me.
A shadow enters the door, its body stepping in seconds later.
Tristan.
Oh, so we’re doing this now?
Also, if Tristan brought Willow here to play with me, he can get lost.
The chattering in the clubhouse starts to fade, domino-effect style. Heads turn one after the other until Tristan and Weeping Willow are the center of attention.
“We need to take this outside,” I hear Saint say to Ash as he steps toward the door. “We don’t need to do this here.”
This might be the first time in history that Ash has taken advice from somebody younger than him. He thinks about it for a moment, and then nods his head, walking toward the front door. “It’s okay, gentlemen, this isn’t anything to worry about. We’ll take this outside and let you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
I watch Willow’s face, trying to work out if she’s giving us the old crocodile tears. It’d be easier if she was, but it’s not in her character to fake.
She scored an F in drama for a reason.
“Come on,” I say, yanking on her shoulder to pull her outside. “Let’s deal with this away from everyone.”
“I’m sorry,” she manages to say.
It’s something, but it’s not enough.
Besides, I’m too distracted to accept her apology.
We can talk about this when Tristan drives away from here with his tail between his legs.
Tonight, the air is cold. As if to set the scene even more, a full moon shines down from the sky like a stage light.
Talk about a performance.
Tristan is wearing his best Tom Ford suit, all black like his heart. He catches my eye and gives me a familiar look.
Once upon a time, I used to love that look. It used to make me feel warm inside. It showed me that he cared, like I was seen and heard, and like I mattered in the world.
Even when we were in public, he made me feel like I was the only one for him, which felt like a wish come true, given that I thought all men had a built-in wandering eye as soon as their balls dropped.
It was special, but it was all a lie.
