I drop my chin and force my eyes to the bride and groom, who are locked in a slow dance even while the Village People croon their noxious song.
Wade drops a quick kiss on his date’s shoulder. “Babe, why don’t you grab your coat?” He gives her a shove off his lap before leaning into my line of sight. “Baywatch, you need to let her go. She’s happy with Cam, and I know you want her to be happy . . . right?” He lifts an eyebrow, daring me to contradict him.
Do I want Eve to be happy? Of course. Would I rather she be happy with me? Fuck yeah.
I shrug, and feeling suddenly suffocated, I pull at the neck of my dress shirt and tie only to realize they’re hanging open and loose. My throat is dry, and I force myself to swallow. “I’m happy for them, really. No hard feelings.”
Such a line of bullshit, but it’s the one I’ve been feeding everyone since Eve chose Cameron over me. Every time I think I’ve moved on, that I’m over it, I end up being forced into the same room with them and realize I’m not.
After Eve took over for Layla while she’s on maternity leave, I see her at the Training Center every damn day—her and Cam with their hands all over each other—and the anger of rejection burns like a bitch.
I seek them out accidently, as if the thought of them naturally brought my eyes around, only to find them whispering against each other’s lips on the dance floor and looking all the cheesy romantic couple that they are.
When did I become such a cynic? I was the guy who loved love, wanted to share my time with just one girl, unlike every other guy I know. I was looking for the one, and I’d thought I found her at fifteen. I was wrong.
What going away to college introduced me to, life as a UFL fighter in Vegas slammed home: Women don’t like nice guys. When given a choice, they’ll always choose dudes that treat them like shit and give them something to fix.
My stomach plummets as Eve brings her hand up to Cam’s jaw and leans forward to brush her lips against his. He grips her ass and pulls her close, and the jealous rage that’s always hovering close to the surface flares.
The asshole and the ice queen. They deserve each other, and if I didn’t still care so much for Eve, I’d congratulate them on their relationship with a big-ass grin and move the hell on. But I can’t control the pull I have toward the woman, can’t just turn off my feelings.
That should be me with her. My hands on her ass. My tongue in her mouth. My heart in her hands. I growl at my own pussy-ass thoughts.
Fuck ’em. Fuck ’em both.
God, I can’t help myself from being such a dick. I suppose I owe Cam and Eve a hearty thank you. They’ve turned me into an asshole, every girl’s wet dream.
“I’m out.” I push up from my chair and grab my suit coat, and I’m ready to burn off some of this shit cartwheeling through my head.
Wade studies me in a way that makes my skin crawl. He’s well aware that I’m full of shit, and he’s calling my bluff. “You takin’ off?” He stands and crosses his arms over his chest, his head tilts slightly, and I can’t help feeling like he’s reading my mind.
“Yeah, my brother’s in town with some friends.” Why they’re in town I have no idea, but something tells me it’s not vacation. A sour taste floods my mouth at the thought of facing The Brotherhood; although, avoiding them isn’t an option either.
“You’re not driving, are you?”
I almost roll my eyes at Wade, who’s apparently been nominated to play Baywatch’s babysitter tonight, not that I’m surprised. All the guys have been keeping a close eye on me lately, covering for me when I fuck up, making sure I don’t end up shit-canned by the UFL or arrested for acting like a jackass.
“Nah, I’ll grab a cab.” I pull on my jacket, patting all my pockets in a quick check for my phone and wallet. “It’s just down the strip.”
He opens his mouth to say something but slams it shut just as his date struts up and tucks into his side with her coat