Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,39

I’d gone insane. Even Chelsea lifted her attention from her food.

“I can move it to the garage. That’s where it should be anyway. And you’ve met Mama D.” He didn’t have to elaborate. I had met Mama D. I’d met her, been crushed in a hug by her, and left her house ten minutes later with enough advice to write a book, and two Tupperware containers full of food. She was well-intentioned, but had the subtlety and boundaries of Dr.Phil on acid. “Do you have an issue with him staying with us?”

“Of course not. Why would I?” I sent out a silent plea to the universe to send me back a well-thought-out and perfectly reasonable excuse why Easton’s best friend couldn’t shack at our place while his life fell apart.

No such excuse came. I stuffed another forkful of salad into my mouth and chomped through it.

“It looks like they can fit us in at three-thirty,” Chelsea announced, looking up from her phone. “Easton, you and Aaron want in on massages too?”

“Nah, I think we’ll stick to the tables.” Easton leaned forward and tapped my hand, getting my attention. “If you don’t want him to stay with us, just let me know.”

I was acutely aware of Chelsea, the hum of the neighboring tables, and Aaron approaching quickly from the left. I forced a smile and met Easton’s eyes. “No, it’s fine. Seriously.” In my stomach, the bits of chicken and lettuce churned as anxiety grew.

Anxiety… and something else. I took a sip of water and placed a hand on my stomach, trying to place the discomfort and hoping like hell that it wasn’t excitement.

15

There are some things your husband should never know. My mother’s words echoed in my mind as I watched Easton pull open the sliding glass door and step onto the balcony, joining Aaron at the rail. Together, they looked over the Vegas view, and I felt a pull of longing at how handsome they both were. Easton turned to Aaron and laughed, his hand clapping on his shoulder with affection.

Would last night’s events drive a wedge between the two friends? Would Easton be mad?

I had no idea. I also didn’t know how much to tell Easton when that moment of truth came. There was a difference between knowing that someone was watching and performing for them.

The two men moved closer, and Aaron leaned his forearms on the rail. I thought of the time when Easton had shoulder surgery and A fell asleep in the recliner in his hospital room and stayed the night. There had been the night he showed up at our house, an hour after he heard about Easton’s skull fracture, a case of beer in hand. We’d all gotten drunk that night, and I’d woken up to find our abandoned bedroom dresser assembled—a Herculean task that had endeared me to him forever.

It shouldn’t matter if my overactive imagination dabbled in explicit Aaron fantasies. Or if—in a lonely and drunk moment—he watched us have sex. I couldn’t throw a wrecking ball into their friendship.

But I also couldn’t not tell Easton.

“Whatcha doing?”

I jumped at the close sound of Chelsea’s voice, turning sharply to see her standing beside me, her arms crossed over her generous chest. Jutting out from her hot pink cut-off shorts, her legs were planted wide, as if she was about to go into a series of squats.

“I was just blanking out. Thinking about work.”

“Any word on your contract negotiations?”

“The buyers are still thinking about it,” I lied. In actuality, the doomed inspection hadn’t killed the deal after all. The buyers had accepted our proposed repairs and we had only had to bump closing for two weeks—still a little financially spincter-tightening, but not wrinkle-inducing.

“No wonder you’ve been so quiet.” She leaned forward and draped her weight on my shoulders. “You’ve been off all morning.”

I made a face. “It’s almost three. I think we missed morning entirely.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, not distracted from her assessment of me. “Well, you’re allowed to be grouchy for thirty more minutes. Then I expect this massage to melt all of that away. We’ve got Luke and Thomas booked, and the concierge told me they have magic fingers and fart out sex appeal.”

I watched as she stretched forward to touch her toes, which was probably the extent of the physical activity she had planned for the week. “Really? That’s what the concierge said?”

“In snooty old lady talk which, thanks to Regina, I’m fluent in.” The reference to her stepmother was made with