Chapter 71 Jace
JACE
SINNERS AND SAINTS GROUP CHAT
Me: The hell are you talking about?
Ryker: Your girlfriend just posted this on Insta …
[Ryker sends image]
Me: What the—
The picture was of me. On a horse. Staring thoughtfully into the sunset with that golden light hitting my face just right. The kind of shot I never knew was being taken.
It had been edited into a romance novel cover though. Professionally done, down to the glossy finish and embossed lettering. For one suspended second, I thought maybe this was some kind of publishing deal my PR team forgot to mention.
Until I read the title.
DOUCHEBAG COWBOY
Book One in the Men Who Surrendered Their Balls Series
After quickly confirming what I already knew—Scarlett had simply posted a raw photo on social media, and one of the guys had done the editing—I continued with the text.
Me: Which one of you immature jackasses did this? How long did this take you to create in Photoshop? Are you fucking obsessed with me?
Axel: Oh, please, have you ever heard of easy editing apps? Took 30 seconds. The sound I imagined your soul making when you saw it was all the motivation I needed. *chef’s kiss emoji*
Ryker: The font choice really sells it. Very Fabio-meets-Wall-Street douchebag.
Blake: I’m saving this forever. This is going up in the hospital break room.
Me: Delete it. Now.
Axel: Never. It’s going in my will. My dying wish will be to have it projected onto your corporate headquarters.
Me: Keep it up, and I’ll send Dakota to your house.
Dakota was the human equivalent of a Category 5 hurricane who somehow had Axel—the most unmanageable man I’d ever met—cowering in unease.
Axel: That’s not funny.
Me: Oh, but it is. Wish I could see your face right now. I bet even your hair is nervous.
Axel: You wouldn’t dare.
Me: One text. That’s all it would take.
Blake: What just happened? Did someone actually find Axel’s off switch?
Ryker: I can feel his anxiety through my phone. What is your deal with Dakota, and how do we nominate her for a Nobel Prize?
Axel: She’s a soul-destroying she-devil in high heels. And NOT in the fun way.
Blake: I can feel your blood pressure spiking from here.
Me: The mere mention of her name made your throat close up at that hospital. You know why? Because unlike the rest of us who’ve developed immunity to your bullshit, Dakota would apparently dissect your soul and serve it back to you on a silver platter just for fun.
Ryker: Dakota sounds like my kind of woman. Does she offer lessons?
Axel: Gotta go. Working on the sequel—Corporate Cowboy Catastrophe: His Manhood Galloped Away When She Batted Her Eyelashes.
Blake: *skull emoji*
Ryker: I preordered.
Me: I hate all of you.
Axel: That’s not what the dedication in Douchebag Cowboy says. “To my friends, who supported my journey from uptight billionaire to whipped boyfriend.”
Blake: I’m framing this entire conversation. Featured prominently at our wedding reception.
Ryker: Speaking of which, the shortness of your engagement is what lawyers call “suspicious.” If I find out you knocked up my sister before the wedding, I’ll relocate your balls.
Me: I’m buying all your companies and firing every one of you.
Ryker: Worth it.
I put my phone back into my pocket but could still feel it buzzing with their messages, just as I could feel Scarlett watching me with those knowing eyes.
Because, damn it, I’m smiling.