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I roll my eyes. “Okay, ya floozy. Keep your vag in your pants.”
Laughing, she links her arm with mine and tells me all the latest dirty details of what Dare’s been doing to her. While we both might have been forced into marriage, one thing is certain—I won’t be fucking Mace.
By the time Rose leaves, we’re both sufficiently drunk, but I feel better after talking to her. She relates to what I’m going through, even if her advice sucks. God bless her for trying, though. She’s a good one.
“Do you have to go?”
“No,” she says at the same time Dare says, “Yes.”
She glares at him, but he only grins. “You’re drunk, baby. I’m taking you home and putting you to bed.”
Lust shimmers in her gaze. “You don’t have to threatenme,” she mutters to him, rolling her eyes and turning toward me. “I love you, please don’t die,” she murmurs, tugging me into her arms. She’s stronger than she realizes, and I crash into her body. She’s too tipsy to keep us both standing, but the guys are suddenly there, catching us.
Mace’s arms band around my waist, strong and firm. The air in my lungs grows heavy as his hard body presses into mine. I don’t have the energy to push him off of me.
“Aw, look, they love us.” Rose’s eyes are dreamy as Dare slots his palm around her neck. He gazes at her like she’s a star in the sky he’s been hunting for years. My chest twinges with envy.
Rose gasps and looks at me. “Oh my god! We can go on couples’ vacations together. Renew our vows together!”
I shake my head. “Count me out of the last one.”
Dare’s calculating gaze moves between me and Mace. “Call me if you need me.”
I don’t know who he directs that message to. Maybe both of us. Sweeping Rose into his arms bridal style, he carries my best friend away. They’re so in love. Envy lights up my insides.
“We’ll never be like that,” I whisper.
Mace’s palms splay across my stomach. “Do you want to be?”
Yes. No. I don’t know. I want to be loved, but I’m not going to share that with him. “Forget it.” I grip his forearms and pry them apart, turning around to scowl up at him. “Let’s get two things straight. I won’t fall for you.”
His eyebrows rise. “What’s the second?”
“What?”
“You had two things you wanted to get straight.”
Oh. Right. Fucking wine. “And the second”—I pause and glance around the kitchen—“I’m not cooking for you.”
“I don’t need you to cook for me.”
“Oh, yeah?” We’ll see about that. I’m sure he expects me to be a good little housewife.
He lifts a shoulder. “I can cook, and I have a chef that comes by three times a week.”
I cross my arms. “Well, good, then. Don’t expect your laundry to be folded.”
“I have someone for that.”
“Then don’t expect me to get on my hands and knees and scrub the floor like Cinderella. I’m not a fucking maid.”
“I have someone for that.”
I growl. Now he’s trying to piss me off. “Well, then, I’m sure you have someone to suck your dick too!”
A dark glimmer of amusement washes over him. He takes a step toward me. My heart trips and I take a step back.
“Are you running?” He steps again.