Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,57

said interesting?”

“Look, I really don’t want to rehash our entire conversation. It was personal shit. All you need to know is that he’s absolutely fine with you being fine with him seeing us.” He grinned at me.

“Uh-uh. No. I need you to rehash the entire conversation, especially considering that it was about me.”

“He thought it was hot. He thinks you’re the sexiest woman in Miami. He, in an absolutely respectful way”—he held up his hands as if to ward off another attack—“told me that I was lucky as hell and to never let you go. That’s it. End of conversation.”

“You are lucky,” I pointed out grudgingly. “Exceedingly so.”

“Exceedingly so,” he allowed. “And…” he looped a finger in the waist of my shorts and pulled me closer. “I do have the sexiest woman in the world. Which is why I’m trying to keep you happy in the bedroom.”

“I’m very happy in the bedroom.” I took the kiss he gave, then pulled back. “But don’t talk to Aaron about me anymore.” It was hard not to feel a sticky warmth at what Aaron had said. Sexiest woman in Miami? He’d thought our sex was hot?

There was a boost that occurred when Easton gave me compliments, an effect that had slowly diminished over time. At one point, I would have glowed over him telling me I was beautiful. Now, I felt a minor satisfaction over a met obligation—and not much more. But this new stimulus… it brought back that old feeling, that buzz of fresh excitement and nervousness. It wasn’t just that Aaron thought I was sexy, it was Easton’s reaction. He loved that his best friend found me hot. I could see it in his cocky grin, could feel the energy in his touch.

I stepped back from Easton as if it would physically separate me from the sensation.

“I won’t.” He tilted his head toward the bottom of the hill. “Ready to head back? I promise not to bring up orgies over dinner if you make macaroni and cheese.”

“Ugh.” I dropped my arms and trudged in the direction of home. “We don’t have noodles. Fish tacos?”

“Deal.” He dropped a kiss on my head and switched Wayland’s leash so he could hold my hand.

21

The divorce became final on Tuesday, the same day as my ill-fated but barely successful closing. Easton and I were in the midst of an argument on whether to get Wayland his own Whopper Jr when I got the text from Chelsea, who heard the news from Becca’s sister.

I glanced at my phone, cut Easton off mid-sentence, and told him the news. Abandoning our spot in the Burger King drive-through, we cut across the parking lot, hopped a curb, and headed for home. From the backseat, Wayland let out a mournful whine.

“I told you, he knows.” Easton tried to reach back and pet his head, but Wayland slunk to the passenger side, out of reach.

“It doesn’t matter if he knows. He doesn’t have to get something just because we are getting something. That expectation teaches him to beg.”

“Not getting him something teaches him to beg. You don’t know that, because you never get him anything, and he always begs.”

“Did Aaron text you? I can’t believe that Chelsea found this out before we did. Take Freeman over. Madison Ave is going to be ridiculous.”

“I haven’t heard anything from him.”

“Maybe he’s at the house.”

He was at the house. I stopped in the kitchen and spied him sitting on the back deck, one flip-flopped foot propped up on our hibiscus pot. As I watched, he twisted the cap off of his beer and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. Easton came beside me and followed my gaze through the window.

“Look,” I whispered, pointing to the papers on the patio table beside Aaron. It was a thick stack, gem-clipped together at the top, with a court seal pressed into the cover page. “Chelsea was right. The divorce is done.”

“Poor guy.”

“He’s just staring at the pool.”

“He’s probably wondering why we can’t afford to fix it.”

“Or why we haven’t stuck some koi out there.” Our pool had been at the top of a renovation list we’d never begun, the broken pump and cracked walls now framing a three-foot pond of algae-thick sludge that occupied the deep end and rose and fell with the rain levels.

“I think you’d have to install an air filter or pump, in order for koi to live.”

“She’s such a bitch. I can’t believe we introduced them. Technically, this is