Tied (Tangled, #4)(26)

Alexandra snaps, “What do you mean relive? You’re a man—you’re still living your misspent youth.”

My brother-in-law holds out his hand to Warren. “Make mine a double.”

Warren passes Steven a full bowl and a lighter, while Matthew offers Kate the joint. She shakes her head. “Maybe later.”

I walk across the room, open a window, and turn on the ceiling fan.

Warren asks, “What about you, Evans? You down?”

I snort. “Like I’d ever put something in my mouth that hitched a ride next to your sweaty balls. I’d rather kiss a jungle elephant’s ass.”

Warren takes a long drag, and puffs of smoke escape his lips as he mocks me. “Narc.”

I deadpan, “Yeah, that’s me. On my off days I hang out with Johnny Depp down at 21 Jump Street.”

Already feeling the effects of the high, Matthew giggles. And announces to the whole room, “Nah, Andrew’s cool. But him and Mary Jane don’t get along. He tried her once in college. It didn’t work out.”

Kate leans forward. “I’ve never heard that story.”

“It wasn’t exactly one of my finer moments.”

Matthew laughs louder. “He took four hits, then started running around the house locking all the doors and windows. He thought his old man was gonna show up, or the SWAT team was gonna drop out of the sky. Then he had a panic attack.”

“I did not have a frigging panic attack.”

Matthew’s eyes meet mine. “Dude, I thought I was gonna have to haul your ass to the emergency room. You looked like you were going into cardiac f**king arrest.”

Everyone has a good chuckle at my expense—even Kate.

Warren nods his head happily. “Evans can’t handle the weed. Good to know. Now, if I ever want to mess with you, I know just how to do it.”

Friends are supposed to rag on each other. It’s one of the benefits of knowing everything about a person—all their accomplishments, all their embarrassing, dirty little secrets.

But that’s a hammer that swings both ways.

“Keep on walking down memory lane, Matthew. There’s a few potholes I could dig up on you too.”

He spreads his arms wide. “I’m an open book.”

I smile devilishly. “You sure about that?”

“Bring it, chump.”

I turn toward his wife. “Hey, Dee, Matthew ever tell you about the time he was so trashed, he pissed in Kelly Macallister’s mouth while she was giving him a bl**ow jo**b?”

Matthew sobers immediately.

Steven doubles over laughing.

“Ewwww,” Erin squeals. “That’s so gross.”

“That’s how he got his nickname in our fraternity—Golden Shower Fisher.”

Alexandra looks both sickened and amused.

Jack snorts, “Nasty.”

Kate grimaces and covers her ears.

Delores laughs at first, then turns to her husband and confesses, “I’m ruined. I’ll never be able to suck you off again without thinking of that story.”

Matthew glares at me good-naturedly, “You’re a di**ckwad, man.”

I just grin. “That’s what friends are for, buddy.”



Ten minutes later, Erin lies feet up in the recliner with heavy-lidded eyes. She raises one arm slowly, then the other. “This is great. I’m so relaxed.”

Steven’s face is slack as he motions toward the shiny grand piano in the corner. “Hey, Billy, why don’t you play something?”

Yes, asswipe can also play the piano. Just keep in mind—he may be a multifaceted tool, but he’s still a f**king tool.

Dee pipes up, “Good idea. Nothing goes better with a quality high than some smooth tunes. Make it mellow, cuz.”

Shit-for-brains gets up, settles himself on the piano bench, cracks his knuckles, and starts to play. After a few bars of instrumental, he starts to sing “Someone Like You” by Adele. It figures he’d choose a chick song.

As he croons the last line before the chorus—the one about things not being over between him and his former love, my good mood sours like milk left out of the fridge too long. This is why I always have, do now, and will forever hate Warren’s guts. Because, despite Matthew’s story about my experience with marijuana, I’m not a paranoid guy. I’m observant. Intelligent. Goddamn smart enough to know why—out of all the motherf*cking songs he could have played—he picked this one.

And more important—I know whom he’s playing it for.

There are no accidents. Body language and Freudian slips have meaning. They’re our subconscious’s way of showing how we really feel. What we really want. And somewhere, deep down in Warren’s puny brain and inadequate heart—I think he still wants Kate.

Look at her face now. It’s the same look she always gets when she watches him sing. Her head’s tilted slightly, a small smile sits on her lips, and her eyes swim with a mixture of pride and wonderment. Admiration. And possibly, remembered affection. Even though I know she doesn’t have those feelings for him anymore, even though I know she chose me—she loves me more—it pisses me off. Badly.

Because the only person I’ve ever looked at like that—in my entire life—is her.

As he plays the final note, I swallow my resentment down. Matthew, Steven, Erin, Dee-Dee, and Kate clap. Alexandra actually wipes a tear from her eye.