BECKETT
"She's sleeping. I'm out."
Remy's message is clear as if he's too cowardly to get punched. Well, that's a good idea for him considering I'll probably punch his face if he spent the night in Ashley's apartment.
Ashley f*****g Brooke.
My fiancée. Ex-fiancée.
Whatever the hell we are now—she’s still the only person I’d fall to my knees for, and the only one who knows exactly how to make it hurt when she pulls away.
The boys are f*****g loud around me. Shots clinking. Glass on glass. A chant building like static from the far end of the bar, all muscle and testosterone and post-win high. Tyler’s got beer dripping down his hair, grinning like he just got laid by the cup itself. Someone’s lighting cigars in the booth. There’s a girl on someone’s lap already.
It’s one of those
