Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,38

face you get when you’re constipated.”

“No,” Easton said slowly. “That’s not her constipated face. That face is more of a wide lipped look.” He imitated the face I supposedly make when my bowels are slow and I swore to God—constipation did not happen enough for me to have a dedicated facial expression.

I shoved Chelsea away from me. “Go away. I’m hungover. I told you. Your hovering is not helping.”

“Oh, sir—that’s mine.” Chelsea zeroed in on the tuxedoed waiter right before he put Aaron’s steak down at his empty place. “We switched. Give him the cheeseburger please.”

He hesitated, then followed her instructions.

“I can’t believe you’re taking his steak.”

“Whatever. I’m treating you guys to lunch so I’ll order him another. Sir?” She batted her eyelashes at the waiter. “Can you put in another one for him?”

“Money doesn’t solve everything, you know.” I picked up my fork and stared at my Asian chicken salad, one selected because it was four dollars cheaper than anything else on the lunch menu.

“My, someone’s soaked panties are in a twist this morning,” Chelsea said airily. “You’re in Vegas, dahling. With your deliciously scrumptious husband and lovable best friend. How are you not in a better mood right now? Would it help if all of my non-solvable money treated us both to a massage? I was thinking of getting a hot stone one.”

A massage would help. So would a conversation with Easton, which seemed far more pressing than my slightly wilted salad. I gave Chelsea an apologetic look.

“What do you think she’s saying to him?” Chelsea stuck a piece of steak in her mouth and half rose in her seat, trying to see outside. “I’m going to cut off his balls if he takes her back.”

“He’s not taking her back,” Easton said, leaning back in his chair and draining his Pepsi. “We talked about it last night. Neither of us could sleep.”

My awareness spiked. I tried to casually glance at Easton without rearing back like a stepped-on snake. “What’d you talk about?”

“I think she saw me. I had my dick out and was jacking off, and I could feel her looking at me, watching me.

“Did it turn you on, having my wife watch you?”

“Fuck, E—I wanted to open that door and join you. When she was on all fours, your belt in her mouth…”

“You should have. We could have taken turns on her. You won’t believe her tight pussy, the way it clenches you. And she loves getting fucked, Aaron. You have no idea how dirty my wife can get.”

I shifted in the seat, pushing my mound against the hard edge of the wooden chair. The ridge of it drug along my clit and if was socially acceptable, I’d hump this thing like an animal in heat.

“He’s done with her. Emotionally finished.” Easton droned on, oblivious to my fevered condition. “Especially with the way she’s acting—which is completely dismissive about her actions. She hasn’t apologized once, or seemed to care about his emotional well-being. Plus, he’s checked their security cameras, and last night Becca never came home, so she must have stayed at that guy’s place.”

“The bitch,” Chelsea said with almost gleeful pleasure. “I hope he throws her out on the street.”

“Actually…” Easton frowned. “That house was built on her parent’s land. Remember? That was their wedding gift to them?”

I forgot my rampant fantasy in the memory of what Aaron’s sprawling house used to look like—an overgrown field on the outskirts of Miami. Their home had been Aaron’s passion project—the gorgeous plantation home built between jobs, his weekends spent transforming the flat and swampy acreage. “What does that mean? Does that matter?”

“I don’t know.” Easton rubbed the back of his neck and bit into a potato wedge. “They’re working through that and the business with a mediator. Neither one of them wants to get attorneys involved.”

I hated the thought that all of his hard work on that house could go to her.

E hunched forward over his plate. “His mom came back this weekend. I told him he could move in with us until he figured his shit out.”

His words hovered in the air above the table. I chewed slowly, a sour tangerine popping on my tongue. Stay with us? No. No. NoNoNoNo No.

“But…” I set down my fork. “Maybe he needs his mom’s support. It’s a tough time for him. Plus, I have all of that Christmas stuff in the guest room. It’s a lot of stuff…” I ended weakly. Easton tilted his head at me as if