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I hadn’t even considered that. That what I was asking her to do is wrong. Further proof that the old me is still driving the bus where Tess is concerned. “I can’t be the—”
She shakes her head. “I’m still on probation where she’s concerned. After what happened with Con—” She stops talking. I don’t say anything. I just let the memory sink in. That I’m the one who came to New York to tell her about how her brother, Ryan was wounded in action and was home from the Army. That I did it against my brother’s wishes.
That she owes me.
“I’m a terrible liar, Declan,” she warns as she tucks the box under her arm. “She won’t buy it for long and when she figures it out, she’s going to be pissed.”
I know she’ll eventually figure out that I’m the one who bought the dress and when she does, Henley’s right. She’ll be pissed.
Pissedis probably an understatement.
“She’s been pissed at me for eight years.” I shove my hands into my pockets and take a step back. “It’s not going to make much difference.” I turn and make my way down the hall.
“For you,” she hisses after me. “It won’t make much difference for you.” The door snapping closed behind me before I can even think about apologizing.
Translation: You’re still a selfish dick, Declan.
Hands free, I jab the elevator call button, it lets out a ding and the doors slide open.
And there’s my fiancé with her ball player. His hand is worked up her skirt and his tongue is shoved down her throat.
“Going down?”
At the sound of my voice, Jessica sky blue eyes go wide. She lets out a yelp and starts slapping at Viaga’s hand like she has no idea what it is or how it got up her skirt.
It’s ridiculous. The whole fucked-up, bullshit mess of it—up to and including the fact that I’m actually marrying this skank—is so ludicrous that I start laughing.
I laugh so goddamned hard I forget to get on the elevator and end up taking the stairs.