Filthy Vows (Filthy Vows #1)(23)

“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron called out. I glared at him in response, then bit back a smile when he laughed.





10





I decided somewhere around the middle of my ribeye that I hated Becca. Vehemently hated her. The cheating was one thing, and unforgivable in itself. But it was her attitude about it that was sending my fury into a new direction. She was being dismissive to Aaron, as if she didn’t have to explain herself to him, as if the last three years of their marriage didn’t grant him the right to ask questions about her reasons for filing for divorce. In love with another man? THAT WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH.

“So you don’t know anything?” I stabbed at a piece of meat. “Nothing about what she plans to do? If she’s marrying him? How long they’ve been seeing each other?”

“She said I need to respect her privacy.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Whatever that means.”

“But she’s not even considering the idea of working through this and staying together?” Chelsea hunched forward, cupping her wine glass with both hands as if it were a cup of coffee.

“I don’t know. I tried to talk to her about it and she said I was pressuring her.”

I met Chelsea’s gaze across the table and could see her mutual contempt. “Honestly, I think we’re focused on the wrong thing,” I announced, setting down my fork. “Screw begging her to give your marriage another try. Do you even want to stay married to her after this?” My voice rose with each statement, and I watched Wayland tuck his tail between his legs and run out of the room in anticipation of a fight.

“Elle’s right.” Chelsea popped a crispy chunk of potato into her mouth. “You should be leaving her. For two reasons.” She stuck out the index finger of her right hand. “One, because she isn’t trying to win you back. And two”—her middle finger joined the party—“She wasn’t that great of a wife to begin. And falling in love with someone else? Total chicken shit move.”

Aaron winced, and I glared at her complete lack of tact.

“We aren’t sure that she’s in love with this other guy.” I nudged her leg with my toe in an attempt to punctuate my point. “She could be emotionally confused. Or maybe this is just a mid-life crisis.” In her twenties.

“Uh-uh. She’s committed to this guy. Or at the least—committed to the idea of abandoning her marriage. If there was a chance Becca wanted to stay married, she’d act completely different.” She nodded her way through the rest of her bite, then reached for her wine glass. “The bottom line is, there’s only one way to fix Aaron’s woes.”

The group fell silent as she took a long and dramatic sip of wine, then smacked her lips together. I ignored her theatrics, fairly certain where they were leading.

“Vegas,” she announced, a bit of sparkle to the vowels.

“Vegas?” Aaron repeatedly warily.

Easton nodded in enthusiasm, and I wanted to chuck our latest credit card statement at his head.

“This weekend.” Chelsea stood for full effect. “We can take my dad’s jet. Split a suite. Get Aaron’s dick sucked and fucked by every slut on the strip. By the time we bring him home, his heartache will be healed and he won’t remember that bitch’s middle name.” She lifted her wine in a toast. “Come on. Who’s with me?”





11





“Has it occurred to anyone that I’m the only one on this plane that could get married this weekend?” Chelsea stood in the middle of the jet and adjusted her crisp white veil.

“I’d marry you,” Easton drawled from his spot in one of the leather recliners. “Assuming they allow multiple wives in Nevada.”

“And assuming you divorce me and find another wife who is okay with two wives,” I shot back playfully.

“I appreciate the proposal, but I could never be a second wife,” Chelsea said airily. “I plan on keeping my husband very busy.” She turned and ran a hand down the small of her back, adjusting the delicate row of roses that hid the zipper. “But I’m serious. Until Aaron’s divorce becomes final, I’m the sole hope for a shotgun Vegas wedding.”

“I’m no expert,” Aaron remarked. “But I feel like the wedding dress might ward off any would-be suitors.”

“Good thing I’m not looking for a proposal then.” She lifted up the hem of her dress and carefully moved over to the couch, positioning the dozens of layers of tulle into place before carefully sitting down. “I’m going for the bad boys who want to defile an innocent bride.”

“I wish I could tell you it was a stupid plan, but watching you attempt it is worth this entire trip.” I smiled at her as I tore open a bag of peanut M&Ms. “Anyone want to place bets on her success rate?”

“Wait.” She held up her hand before the men could speak. “What determines success? Because I only plan on letting one man inside these virginal thighs this weekend.”

“One guy seems too easy,” Aaron remarked. “Especially for her.”

Chelsea beamed at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He lifted his drink to her in response. Ages ago, back when we were in college and attended Easton and Aaron’s baseball games—I entertained notions of a Chelsea and Aaron sandwich. Despite her proclamations of attraction, she never moved down that road, and they had settled early on into a sort of brother/sister relationship that contained plenty of teasing, but no sexual chemistry.