Jokers: BBW Billionaire Menage Romance (Billionaire Brothers, II Book 2) (6 page)

Melita paced across the room, knuckling her chin in concentration. Her eyes darted to me every few seconds as I sat on the floral sofa, the afghan pulled up to my nose.

“Okay, I just want to say this,” she started.

“Nope.”

“Bree,” she whined, “just hear me out.”

“I don't need to hear you out. I've already made up my mind. Let's just go put in applications at the Brewhouse.”

She stopped in mid-stride and whirled on me, holding her hands out from her hips.

“I just got this outfit!”

I stared her up and down, confused. “And it's a lovely outfit?"

“No! I mean I just got this outfit.
For our new life
. It is good and started, the life, I mean.”

I open my mouth but nothing would come out.

“Melita…”

“Yes, that's right! You're taking me with you,” she commanded.

“But I'm not going anywhere,” I said in a small voice.

“Oh, don't be such a pussy!”

I scowled at her from under the blanket and drew it up closer to my eyes. I really was not in the mood for a new enemy.

She pouted and then cocked her head at me sighing. Her foot tapped against the threadbare carpet and I felt a twinge of real guilt.

“Mel, I'm really sorry. I truly am… I just can't.”

She shook her head. "You can't let Carl decide what kind of life you get. Not anymore. Do I need to remind you that you left him? That means everything you do from now on is your fault, good or bad. And if you let him decide what kind of future you have, then… Well, I don't know what.”

She sighed in frustration and crossed her arms in front of her chest as she ran out of steam. I had to admit though, there was a lot of wisdom in the first part of that.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I tried to gather whatever strength I had in me though my reserves seemed dangerously low.

“Okay, I will think about it.”

She squealed and bounced on her toes. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Because I looked pretty fucking cute in this new outfit!”

“Yes,” I admitted sourly, “you sure did. And you’re right, anywhere I go, I'm taking you with me.”

“Aw,” she cooed affectionately. “I'll take you everywhere with me too! Assuming I ever get to go anywhere nice! You know that reminds me,” she said, gesturing with one finger for me to wait, “want to come out with me and Jay tonight?"

“Oh I don't know,” I shook my head. “I mean, I sort of have a date with this afghan? And whatever kind of ice cream is left in the freezer?”

“No, come on! It'll be fun! I really want you to meet him,” she wheedled. Her eyes were framed by the swooping arches of her eyebrows. She just had them redone and I swear they had a little bit of blue in them now.

“I will not be any fun at all,” I warned her.

“Then you'll do it? Oh, that is so great!”

“No, I mean it. I will not be any fun, like, at all.”

She shrugged with one shoulder. “So what else is new?”

“Oh, ha ha, funny funny.”

She flung her shoes off and smiled happily to herself, then whirled around with one finger in the air.

“Okay, so can you look at this auction for me? Pretty please?”

I shook my head and tipped over so that I was laying in the fetal position on the couch.

“I am grounded from auctions, remember? In fact, I think you are the one grounded me.”

“I know, I know,” she whined through her teeth, tiptoeing over to me and poking my shoulder through the blanket. “But it's just the cutest little Gucci, and I really want it.”

I shrugged and pulled the cover over my head.

“Bree, I
really
want it. Like really really.”

After waiting an appropriate amount of time, I finally moaned the word
Fine
into the sofa just loud enough to she would hear it, and just irritably enough that she wouldn't think I enjoyed it.

She skipped from the room, reappearing in about 30 seconds with her laptop already open to the auction she was looking at. Dropping herself heavily onto the cushion next to me, she wriggled her hips against my butt until I was forced to sit up. I squinted at the screen.

“That's a fake,” I said immediately, and then dropped right back onto the sofa.

“What!? No! Aw, man…”

“I can't believe you can't see that.”

“I can't believe you
can
see that,” she shot back. I could hear the pout on her face even though I couldn't see her.

“Everybody can see it.”

“No, not everyone can see it. That’s why those people make so much money,” she said reasonably.

“Well I
can
see it, and you should be glad that I can. I just saved you a lot of money.”

“Yeah, thank you for saving me from this bright red Gucci bag that I want so badly I am gagging for it.”

“You're welcome,” I mumbled into the sofa as she got up and stomped from the room. In a few seconds I heard the tap snapping on in the bathroom above my head.

I felt under the blanket for the ridge of the laptop. She had just left it, right there on the sofa.

I should probably look for a real Gucci bag for her.

And that's it. Because I'm grounded from eBay and I know it. I would just look for one real auction that has a non-phony bag and buy only that. For my best friend. And that's it.

For real.

“I thought you said he lived in Printers’ Row,” I grumbled as we sat in the smelly cab with no air conditioning. I was getting more overheated by the second and wondered if I was going to make it to Evanston without requiring a new round of deodorant.

“Yeah, he does,” she said vaguely as she typed with her thumbs on her smartphone. “Or something like that. South Loop, maybe.”

“You don't know?” I complained.

She sighed impatiently through her nose and shot me a look.

“It's only been a few days,” she retorted. "We haven't had time to tour all of each other's important landmarks just yet. We were a little busy with the, you know,
physical landmarks…
”

"You're fucking a guy and you don't know where he lives."

“I don't know
precisely
where he lives. I don't know where he works or his Social Security Number, either, and I don't hear you complaining about that!”

I rolled my eyes and watched the hipsters on the sidewalk. I remembered this neighborhood was all Middle Eastern just a couple of years ago, but now it had been taken over and gentrified. At least you could still get a decent Indian buffet here though.

“I'm just saying, if it were me you would probably be all over me for —”

“I'm not all over you for anything,” she interrupted. She turned her head toward me and glared a warning look. “In fact, I've been nothing but supportive about your weird transformation into insociable porn star, now haven't I?”

“I think you mean insatiable.”

“Boy, do I ever!”

She turned away from me and crossed her arms to indicate that the conversation was over as far as she was concerned. I sulked and toed the nasty carpet in the back seat. I didn't even want to think about what kind of goo had matted all the fibers together.

This sure is different from riding in a limousine.

I should tell her what I found… Right away. So she can’t yell.

“Okay this is it,” she said abruptly as the cab rolled to a stop. She shoved a $20 bill through the Plexiglas slot and flung her door open. I slid across the sticky, intensely aromatic back seat and climbed out onto the sidewalk, gasping for fresh air.

“He says he's just going to be a minute late,” she said without looking at me. I couldn't tell if she was still mad or if she was trying to fend off my criticism that he was late for the date. “He says just to find a table and he'll be here soon.”

I followed Melita's swishing mane of mocha curls as she flung open the door of the sports bar and strolled inside. I had never known her to be a sports bar kind of girl, but I guess we all change to accommodate the people that we meet. Maybe a sports bar was just the element she had been missing all this time.

She found a tall table with four barstools around it situated between three large-screen TVs showing satellite sports programs from all over the globe. I couldn't help but be enchanted by the Japanese Little League team and edged my way onto the clammy barstool with my mouth hanging open in awe. Those little kids sure can kick a lot of baseball ass.

Melita didn't seem to be interested in speaking to me. I wasn't sure she was still mad about the Gucci or not. Maybe she was mad about my sassy attitude in the cab. Maybe she was mad about a lot of things. I couldn't always tell.

I should just tell her now and be done with it. About the auction…

Her head swiveled on her neck, her cheeks instantly going pinker and her eyes going wider if that's possible. I bit back a smile at the girly way she was getting excited. He must have just entered the room.

Looking over my shoulder I spotted a medium-height man coming toward us in a plaid shirt and worn jeans. His shirt sleeves were buttoned all the way down to the wrist and he was wearing, I kid you not, a substantially-sized silver belt buckle.

Well, yee haw. I guess leaving his shirtsleeves down means he got dressed up? That's nice.

He seemed to see Melita and raised a hand to wave then stopped in his tracks and turned around as though he had suddenly remembered something, or someone had just called his name. I watched the gesture with curiosity, and then sucked my breath in between my teeth.

“Melita…”

“You just keep your opinions to yourself,” she hissed at me. “Yes, he's a little bit country, but I know you will really like him once you get to know —”

She spun in her chair and then hopped off, opening her arms. He came and folded her in his embrace, leaning back and picking her up so that her heels kicked girlishly off the floor.

Swallowing hard, I squeezed my knees together and commanded myself to behave. I was determined to be nice even if it killed me. Even if it killed all of us.

I peered at him suspiciously as we sat around the table. He really was very sweet, never letting go of her hand and stroking her knuckle with the pad of his thumb incessantly. Melita perched her jaw on her fist and gazed at him with the goo goo eyes of a young adult novel heroine.

I nodded mechanically, agreeing with everything he said as the words flowed through me. I could barely keep track of what he was saying. There was a lot of it. He was quite a chatterbox.

After a few minutes he stood up apologetically, tipping his fingertips to his eyebrows in a sort of imaginary cowboy hat salute. I inspected his face for telltale signs and found none. He seemed like a perfectly normal, nice redneck. I could barely believe it.

“Excuse me,” he murmured politely. “I'm just gonna take a moment for the little boys room.”

He quickly gave Melita's hand a squeeze and drew it to his mouth for an affectionate peck. Then placed it back on the table and sauntered off to find, apparently, the room where they kept the little boys.

Melita nodded at me with her lips pursed expectantly. “Now, before you say anything,” she warned, "I just want to say that I know he's not my usual type…”

“Melita…”

"I mean, he's smarter than he sounds, I promise!”

“No, honey, it's not that —”

She waved her fingers between us in the air, then began fanning herself.

“I mean, did you hear that accent? Doesn't it just do something to you?”

I reached out and took her hands between mine, drawing her attention to me. I needed her to look at me.

“Melita, listen to me —”

“I really want you to like him!”

I shook my head. I was so, so sorry. I was sorrier for this than maybe anything, ever.

“Melita, honey…. That man is married.”

Her face froze. I felt like I was staring at a wax statue.

“No, he isn't.”

My purse started to vibrate. I cut my eyes toward it and then looked back at Melita who had her lips pressed so tightly together that the reflection on the gloss formed concentric arches.

“I saw the ring… When he came in, when he waved…”

She shook her head tightly, loosening her curls so that they fell around her face.

“No.”

I took a deep breath and held it for a moment. My purse inched toward me.

“I know you don't want to hear this, honey —”

“What is that sound?” she interrupted irritably.

“It doesn't matter — listen to me, Mel…”

“I thought you said Carl turned off your cell phone?”

I finally looked at my purse. That sound: it was my ringtone from my supposedly dead cell phone. How was that possible?

"Mel, I saw the ring,” I repeated dumbly.

Her hands flew up, palm-out, cutting the space between us in half.

“You just can't… You just don't want me to be happy, do you?” she hissed through her teeth.

“Oh god, Melita, no! I don't want anything but —”

She cut her eyes toward my purse and stood up out of her chair.

“I think you better get that,” she growled as she dragged the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, one hand still blocking off the space between us.

I shook my head helplessly as she walked toward the men's room and found Jay, who had just come back out. He glanced at me and scowled, then folded his plaid-shirted arm around her shoulder and buried his lips against her hairline. She angled her body toward the front door and began walking with him right behind her.

Out of habit, my fingers dug to the bottom of my purse and pulled the vibrating cell phone out. It was still jangling out a decent version of that Justin Timberlake song I like so much.

How can this be happening?

And how is my cell phone still on? Or, back on?

My thumb swiped the face, almost automatically hitting the Connect button. Then I froze, not really understand what I was seeing.

Avery, W.

It's Whitney.

She's calling me.

Whitney Fucking Avery is calling me.

End of “Jokers,” Book 2 of Billionaire Brothers.
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