Filthy Vows (Filthy Vows #1)(20)

No, but my heart still broke at the thought of a marriage dying. I looked down at the crisp white tablecloth and deleted the desire to reach out.

“Now,” Chelsea announced with the graveness that could only precede a ridiculous statement. “Is it too soon to finally confess my wet dreams about Aaron? Because oh my God that boy is delicious.”

I barked out a laugh. “Finally confess? You told Becca you wanted him to stuff you like a Build-a-Bear.”

“That was a compliment, Elle.” She tried to roll her eyes, but ended up laughing instead. “I was trying to break the ice! She was so stiff that night we met her.” She straightened in her seat and adopted a southern drawl that no one had used in a hundred years. “A pleasure to meet you, Chelsea. Though I must say, you are wearing white after Labor Day.”

“She didn’t say that,” I protested.

“She wanted to say it. I could feel her wanting to say it.” She played with the end of her straw. “So I gave her a compliment on her boyfriend.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t have done it if they were already married.”

“Oh right.” I nodded. “That’s where you draw the line. Because you’ve certainly snapped your trap about Easton ever since I walked down the aisle.”

“Easton’s different,” she whined. “I had him first so I’m allowed to gush over his sexual prowess. Plus, I need to remind you of the HUGE sacrifice I made for the sake of our friendship.” She held her hands about a foot apart to make the pun perfectly clear. I threw the wrapper of my straw at her.

“Speaking of sacrifice…” she perked up at the sight of our waiter returning, a pitcher of water in hand. “I plan to lay myself bare at our waiter’s alter tonight. Be a dear and run to the bathroom, will you? I’m about to—”

“Say no more,” I interrupted, pushing to my feet. You only watch Chelsea hit on a man once, and you learn your lesson. I’d had bikini waxes that are less uncomfortable. I grabbed my bag and escaped just in time.





9





Vegas?

Three days later, the one-word text from Chelsea popped up. I yanked at the mailbox door, getting the rusted hinge open. There was a small soft package, tucked among the bills and I stuffed it into my bag and glanced toward the house. Easton wasn’t in sight, but his Jeep was in the drive, along with Aaron’s crew cab truck, Talbot’s Construction printed in red on the side.

I worked the mailbox door shut and unlocked my phone, typing out a quick response.

No.

I didn’t know what she’s thinking, but our current finances made Vegas a terrible idea right now. Especially with Easton’s love of craps.

Dots immediately popped up, followed by an emoji with steam coming out of irritated nostrils. I laughed, then responded.

where r u?

— Leaving High Pines. Got stuck at dads but be there soon.

I sent a thumbs up, then headed toward the house, flipping through the mail as I made my way up our painted concrete drive. I glanced in Aaron’s truck as I passed, curious if he had brought a bag. Other than a Big Gulp cup and an overstuffed clipboard, the front seat was empty.

Swinging open our front door, I paused, bracing for Wayland’s enthusiastic greeting and Easton’s shout. Neither came, and I glanced through the open entryway. “Hello?”

Silence. I kicked back my left foot and pulled off the heel, then did the same with the right. Opening the entry closet, I placed the electric blue pumps on an open spot on a middle shelf, between a gold set of Tieks and some wedge sandals. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the small package and put it on the highest shelf, pushing it behind a pair of `gladiator sandals I hadn’t worn since Selena and Justin first broke up. The package bumped against the one from last month, and I cursed myself for letting another month pass without canceling the fertility drug’s autofill. The pills were ridiculously expensive.

Pulling at my shirt, I got it loose from the waist-crunching pencil skirt as I made my way through the dim formal living room. Originally, we’d had plans to knock down these walls and create an open floor plan, one that would look out to the backyard and pool. Maybe it’d still happen one day. For now, we had six rooms that divvied up our living square footage into a choppy plan that would be a bitch to sell. I don’t know what people were thinking in the seventies. Maybe they liked to be separated all of the time. Maybe the wife wanted to cook in a square box where she couldn’t see anyone, and liked her knees to bump into the tub when she sat down to pee.

Stepping into the kitchen, I spied Easton and Aaron clustered together on the back porch, their heads tilted down, looking at something by their feet. And just like that, the unexpected and unwelcome visual pushed itself forward.

My knees, scraping against the rough stubble of the concrete as I knelt in between them.

Aaron’s hand, settling on the back of my head and pulling me in.

The worn fabric of Easton’s jeans under my hand, his pose shifting impatiently as I let Aaron guide my mouth onto his rigid cock.

“Take it all,” Easton ordered, his voice gruff.

“Jesus,” Aaron swore. “Your wife knows how to suck a cock.”

I turned away from the window sharply, trying to blot out the visual from my head. Blinking rapidly, I made my way to the slider and pulled it open, pasting a smile across my face. “Hey guys.”