Filthy Vows (Filthy Vows #1)(31)

He knew and he knew I knew and what the fuck had I been thinking?

I suddenly felt hot, the sort of rapid overheating that comes right before you faint. I pressed the cold glass to my forehead and closed my eyes, focusing on taking short shallow breaths.

“Are you okay?” Chelsea was suddenly suction-cupped to my side, her breath on my shoulder, her hand biting into my arm. “Elle?”

I lifted my head before she freaked out and tried to smile. “I’m fine. Just hungover.”

Dark melodic tones came from Aaron’s cell, Becca’s ringtone changed by Easton mid-flight into something from Star Wars that meant nothing to me. Aaron sighed and silenced the call. “She’s called me more this weekend than she did all last month.” As soon as Becca got word he was headed to Vegas, she’d gone full-court press in attempting to talk to him. Her ringtone had been an almost constant background noise, the chimes going off in the dinner buffet line, the suite, the limo, and in the strip club. We’d gotten a brief respite after Chelsea had answered, pretended to be a stripper, and then—in a mid-West accent that could curl off wallpaper—proceeded to tell Becca how hawt and dirty her future ex-husband was.

“Just answer it,” Easton urged. “Find out what she wants.”

My husband was too much of a romantic—his love of love battling with his protectiveness toward his best friend. I could see the struggle in him, his advice often warring back and forth. Chelsea and I, on the other hand, were firmly on team Forget That Bitch. Aaron could do better. He deserved better. And as much as I hated the thought of divorce—at least she had filed before they had kids.

Aaron stood and palmed the phone. “I’ll be back.”

My anxiety dialed down as his tall frame walked toward the outdoor patio, his phone to his ear. I had the sudden urge to pull Easton to the side and tell him everything. He would know what to do and how to handle this. Because right now… it felt like I had done something wrong. And if Aaron did know that I knew he was on the balcony, then we were privy to something Easton wasn’t. And that made my stomach knot with guilt.

“Are you constipated?” Chelsea leaned into me, her face pinched with worry. “You have that look on your face you get when you’re constipated.”

“No,” Easton said slowly. “That’s not her constipated face. That face is more of a wide lipped look.” He imitated the face I supposedly make when my bowels are slow and I swore to God—constipation did not happen enough for me to have a dedicated facial expression.

I shoved Chelsea away from me. “Go away. I’m hungover. I told you. Your hovering is not helping.”

“Oh, sir—that’s mine.” Chelsea zeroed in on the tuxedoed waiter right before he put Aaron’s steak down at his empty place. “We switched. Give him the cheeseburger please.”

He hesitated, then followed her instructions.

“I can’t believe you’re taking his steak.”

“Whatever. I’m treating you guys to lunch so I’ll order him another. Sir?” She batted her eyelashes at the waiter. “Can you put in another one for him?”

“Money doesn’t solve everything, you know.” I picked up my fork and stared at my Asian chicken salad, one selected because it was four dollars cheaper than anything else on the lunch menu.

“My, someone’s soaked panties are in a twist this morning,” Chelsea said airily. “You’re in Vegas, dahling. With your deliciously scrumptious husband and lovable best friend. How are you not in a better mood right now? Would it help if all of my non-solvable money treated us both to a massage? I was thinking of getting a hot stone one.”

A massage would help. So would a conversation with Easton, which seemed far more pressing than my slightly wilted salad. I gave Chelsea an apologetic look.

“What do you think she’s saying to him?” Chelsea stuck a piece of steak in her mouth and half rose in her seat, trying to see outside. “I’m going to cut off his balls if he takes her back.”

“He’s not taking her back,” Easton said, leaning back in his chair and draining his Pepsi. “We talked about it last night. Neither of us could sleep.”

My awareness spiked. I tried to casually glance at Easton without rearing back like a stepped-on snake. “What’d you talk about?”

“I think she saw me. I had my dick out and was jacking off, and I could feel her looking at me, watching me.

“Did it turn you on, having my wife watch you?”

“Fuck, E—I wanted to open that door and join you. When she was on all fours, your belt in her mouth…”

“You should have. We could have taken turns on her. You won’t believe her tight pussy, the way it clenches you. And she loves getting fucked, Aaron. You have no idea how dirty my wife can get.”

I shifted in the seat, pushing my mound against the hard edge of the wooden chair. The ridge of it drug along my clit and if was socially acceptable, I’d hump this thing like an animal in heat.

“He’s done with her. Emotionally finished.” Easton droned on, oblivious to my fevered condition. “Especially with the way she’s acting—which is completely dismissive about her actions. She hasn’t apologized once, or seemed to care about his emotional well-being. Plus, he’s checked their security cameras, and last night Becca never came home, so she must have stayed at that guy’s place.”