Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,37
Aaron’s shoulder and eyed our chubby Korean server with longing.
“It’s lunchtime. Wake up earlier tomorrow.” He nudged her into place with his shoulder to keep her from falling off.
“Oh, right. Because you were up at dawn,” she mumbled.
“Actually,” he tilted his head. “I might have been up at dawn. I think I fell asleep around five.”
I intently studied the French roll in my hand, tearing it in half and watching the bread pull apart. So I hadn’t been the only one lying in bed, unable to sleep.
“Ugh. I was dead to the world as soon as I got out of the shower. I almost fell asleep in there.” Chelsea lifted up a wrist heavy in David Yurman chains and glanced at her watch. “How long is our food going to take? I’m starrrrrving.”
Easton’s gaze found mine across the round table. I yawned, then winced, my cheek muscles still sore from his belt. His grin widened and I quickly shut my mouth. From beside Easton, I could feel Aaron watching, the heat from his gaze not helping the burn of my cheeks.
I stuffed part of the bread in my mouth and chewed.
“Hey.” Chelsea straightened off Aaron’s shoulder and leaned toward me. “I think I made a mistake with the cheeseburger. Want to swap?”
“No.” I took a sip of lemonade to wash down the bread. “Order something else.”
“Ellleee,” she whined. “But then it’ll take ages and I’m already SO hungry. Let me split your salad with you.”
“I’ll swap my steak for your burger,” Aaron offered. She perked up at the prospect, and irritation bloomed in my chest.
“Don’t trade her,” I snapped. “She needs to learn to order what she wants.” My gaze flipped to him and I was caught, full-force, in his eye contact. It was similar to when I once drove around a blind curve and encountered a deer. It froze, I inhaled, then I swerved and it ran away.
He knew. I lifted my glass of lemonade and rattled the ice, trying to get a piece in my mouth. He knew that I saw him. It was a sliver of possibility that felt as solid as a knife.
He knew and he knew I knew and what the fuck had I been thinking?
I suddenly felt hot, the sort of rapid overheating that comes right before you faint. I pressed the cold glass to my forehead and closed my eyes, focusing on taking short shallow breaths.
“Are you okay?” Chelsea was suddenly suction-cupped to my side, her breath on my shoulder, her hand biting into my arm. “Elle?”
I lifted my head before she freaked out and tried to smile. “I’m fine. Just hungover.”
Dark melodic tones came from Aaron’s cell, Becca’s ringtone changed by Easton mid-flight into something from Star Wars that meant nothing to me. Aaron sighed and silenced the call. “She’s called me more this weekend than she did all last month.” As soon as Becca got word he was headed to Vegas, she’d gone full-court press in attempting to talk to him. Her ringtone had been an almost constant background noise, the chimes going off in the dinner buffet line, the suite, the limo, and in the strip club. We’d gotten a brief respite after Chelsea had answered, pretended to be a stripper, and then—in a mid-West accent that could curl off wallpaper—proceeded to tell Becca how hawt and dirty her future ex-husband was.
“Just answer it,” Easton urged. “Find out what she wants.”
My husband was too much of a romantic—his love of love battling with his protectiveness toward his best friend. I could see the struggle in him, his advice often warring back and forth. Chelsea and I, on the other hand, were firmly on team Forget That Bitch. Aaron could do better. He deserved better. And as much as I hated the thought of divorce—at least she had filed before they had kids.
Aaron stood and palmed the phone. “I’ll be back.”
My anxiety dialed down as his tall frame walked toward the outdoor patio, his phone to his ear. I had the sudden urge to pull Easton to the side and tell him everything. He would know what to do and how to handle this. Because right now… it felt like I had done something wrong. And if Aaron did know that I knew he was on the balcony, then we were privy to something Easton wasn’t. And that made my stomach knot with guilt.
“Are you constipated?” Chelsea leaned into me, her face pinched with worry. “You have that look on your