Page 127 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
She’s got me completely confused. “Who is Jenner, and why the hell would your ex agree to wear a dress?”
“Jenner’s my be
st friend from San Francisco. You’ll meet him, he’s great. He’s coming to Italy for Fashion Week. And Brad’s still trying to make amends for the whole wedding debacle.”
I’ll bet he is.
If she’s trying to make me jealous, it’s working. My blood pressure just shot through the roof. Though she told me not two minutes ago he wasn’t the man of her dreams, she also told me they had “unfinished business.” Now she’s telling me he was willing to completely humiliate himself in public to make amends for how he humiliated her.
The son of a bitch is still trying to get her back.
I should’ve broken his legs when I had the chance.
“Hello?” she says, sounding nervous.
“Still here.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, bella,” I murmur, wanting her so bad it’s a physical ache. “But you’ve been drinking, and I already told you I don’t take advantage of incapacitated women.”
“I am very capacitated,” she says, attempting to sound sober. It would’ve been a passable attempt, too, except for the burp at the end.
Even that is adorable.
More proof that I’m totally gone for this woman. That I’m doing the right thing by staying away.
The last thing she needs is another man muddying the waters. She has to decide what she wants for herself.
In time.
When she’s sober.
Since she brought up Fashion Week and the show, I’m tempted to tell her about my own plan, but decide now isn’t the time.
Besides, I want it to be a surprise. That was my intent from the beginning.
“Go to sleep, bella,” I say, though it nearly kills me.
“You’re blowing me off again?” She sounds outraged and so dejected I have to grit my teeth against the urge to grab my keys, run from the room, and go to her.
“No, I’m saying good night.” Good night, sleep tight, I’m madly in love with you.
“I can’t believe my groveling didn’t work,” she grumbles to herself. “That was some A-plus groveling.”
“It was. Go to sleep.”
She sighs. “Fine. But if I die of alcohol poisoning, you can’t say I didn’t try to convince you to come over here and save me.”
She hangs up before I can say another word, leaving me staring at the phone.
Definitely the death of me.
I swipe my car keys from the dresser and head out, growling under my breath.
When she wakes up in the morning, she’s going to have worse things than a hangover to deal with.
THIRTY-SIX
