Chapter 21
twenty-one
. . .
Wells
Definitely Deck the Ex. Fuck the Halls
“I can’t do it,” Rosalie whispers from the entrance of the event building, boxes of candy piled high in her arms. “I can’t go in there. God, why did I ever say yes to this?”
That’s partially my fault, and a pang of guilt settles in my stomach when I see the worry etched into her pretty face.
“Hey,” I murmur softly over the top of the boxes in my own arms, angling my body to face her. “You can. That asshole doesn’t deserve shit from you, Rosalie, and it just shows how good you are by doing something like this for someone who’s hurt you. We drop it off, and we leave. In and out.”
For a second, she just stares back at me, chewing anxiously at the corner of her lip.
“You’re beautiful, strong, kind. You’re everything perfect that asshole in there will never get again. Okay? You have the power, baby.”
Her eyes flutter shut, and a long, deep, blown-out breath spills past her lips before they reopen, and she nods. “Okay. You’re right. I can do this.”
“Fuck yeah, you can. Now, let’s go in there and get this shit over with so I can spend the rest of the night proving how perfect you are with my tongue…” I lean closer, pressing my lips to the edge of her jaw before moving them to her ear. “And my cock.”
When I pull back to look at her, her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes hazy with arousal.
That’s my girl… So fucking responsive.
A constant temptation.
One that is going to make us even later than I know she wants to be. The party is set to start in the next thirty minutes, and we’re just now about to walk inside.
“Wow,” Rosalie breathes, her nose slightly scrunched. “This is… an interesting decorative choice.”
“Yeah, no shit,” I retort with a laugh.
The inside of the building looks like a bottle of Pepto has exploded and is covering every surface.
Tablecloths, centerpieces, hell, even the chairs have huge pink bows hanging on the back of them.
Literally, everything inside is a different shade of pink, and not the kind that really seems to flow together.
I don’t know shit about parties or decorating, but this feels like a bad choice.
Rosalie shifts on her feet with the piles of boxes.
“It’s certainly very… love themed?” Her gaze flicks around the room, landing on her ex and his pink-crayon fiancée.
The dress she’s wearing is so fucking poofy, he’s standing a good foot away from her because I don’t think he can actually get any closer.
There are only a few guests here so far, but they’re all dressed like they’re attending a celebrity wedding, in tuxedos and long gowns, adorned with furs and shiny jewelry. Yet, we’re in Mistletoe Falls, and it feels completely out of place.
It feels like a show of fake bullshit.
This isn’t at all the way this town is, and it sure as fuck is the opposite of what Rosalie would want. I think I know her well enough now to realize this is not the person that she is. That’s for fucking sure.
“You dodged a hell of a bullet, baby,” I murmur beside her, both of us watching her fool of an ex, who’s following his fiancée around like a puppy as she makes her way around the room like a queen making her rounds.
A few moments later, he spots us from across the room and starts to make his way over, and Rosalie straightens her spine, lifting her chin higher. “Tell me about it.”
When he finally makes it over to us, after stopping to wrestle with the train of his fiancée’s poofy dress getting snagged on the back of a chair, he looks a bit stressed.
Pretty sure this kind of stuff is supposed to be enjoyable, but doesn’t look like he’s enjoying much.
“Rosalie, you made it,” he says, reaching up to adjust the pink tie around his neck. “Glad you could bring your friend as well.”
Now is the time to exercise self-restraint, Wells. No punching this douche in the face at his own engagement party.
“Congratulations,” she says, her eyes flicking between the two of them. “You look beautiful.”
His fiancée gives her a smile. “Thanks. And thank you so much for all of the treats. They look phenomenal.”
“No problem,” Rosalie responds with a smile. She’s far more polite than I could be in the situation. Especially after learning everything I did about her ex. “Uh, where should I put these?”
“Over there on the dessert table,” Bradley says shortly, gesturing to a table over to the left of the still-empty room. The one that’s piled high with so much other stuff I have no clue where Rosalie’s even going to put the stuff they had her make.
That piece of shit.
It only further proves what I thought. He didn’t actually want Rosalie to make candy for his engagement party—he wanted to rub his engagement in her face.
Apparently, she sees right past his bullshit because the plastered smile on her face slips, a fiery expression taking its place.
Rosalie glances toward me and blows out a frustrated breath as she turns and walks toward the table, sliding the boxes she spent far too fucking long working on onto the very edge of the table, then turning back to Bradley and Jessica.
“Seems like you had plenty of stuff already, Bradley,” she says through clenched teeth, her cheeks stained red with frustration.
He shrugs, a bored expression on his face. “Can never have too much.”
Yeah, you can, and of course a dickbag like you would be willing to waste something that my girl worked all goddamn day on just to use it as a weapon.
Fucker.
“Oh, there’s Arthur! I’m going to say hello,” the fiancée says. “See you in a bit?”
He nods and gives her a quick peck on the cheek.
Once she’s gone, he turns back to Rosalie, who says, “Can I please have the check so I can leave?”
Her hands are balled into fists at her sides as Bradley steps closer. “I was wondering if we could talk for a moment?” His gaze cuts to me before going back to meet hers. “Alone?”
Her eyes widen in surprise before her brows furrow tightly together. “Talk about what?”
There’s a second of hesitation as he glances at me again.
Instinctively, I want to step closer to her, wrap my arms around her, but I refrain because I know that she can handle this.
“I’d like to discuss it in private, Rosalie,” he says lowly. “It’s between you and I.”
“Bradley, there is absolutely nothing that we would ever need to discuss in private. So, if you have something to say, then you can say it right here,” she smarts back, her brow cocked in annoyance.
I grin, watching the exchange.
His jaw flexes as he grits his teeth together but steps in even closer, causing her to step back and me to stand straighter.
“That’s close enough. You know what, actually, we’re just going to leave. Congratulations on your engagement,” Rosalie says evenly.
When she goes to turn around, his hand shoots out, wrapping around her arm. “Wait. Jesus, Rosalie, we can’t even have a conversation?”
“Hands off, dick,” I say roughly, stepping forward. “Clearly, she doesn’t want you touching her.”
He slides his gaze to me but listens and drops her arm, reaching up to adjust his suit, the mask of indifference slipping back into place like it’s nothing.
A humorless laugh pushes past his lips before he rolls them together, nodding. “I see. You can have my leftovers, man. She was never anything memorable. Trust me.”
A haze of red moves past my vision as her face falls, and my fists clench at my thighs.
I’m two seconds away from beating his ass when she straightens, a look of anger shining brightly in her eyes.
“You know what? Screw you, Bradley. I don’t give a shit what you have to say about me, and the fact that you have something hateful to say after I did a favor for you, one that you did not deserve, because your ego is bruised speaks volumes.
” She laughs, devoid of any emotion, and turns back to the champagne in her glass, draining it all before continuing.
“It took me far too long to realize that you didn’t deserve me then, and you’d sure as fuck never deserve me now.
So do us both a favor, forget I ever existed, and if you see me on Main Street, keep walking.
I have nothing to say to you ever again.
Oh, and your dick is small. Now that I’ve had him”—she gestures to me, and a wave of pride flares beneath my chest—“I know exactly what I was missing. Honestly, I feel sorry for you. Have a good life in your fake, miserable marriage, and I suggest you learn where the clit is.”
I’m so fucking proud I don’t even bother waiting to slide my arm around her waist and haul her to me, kissing the fuck out of her. My tongue slips into her mouth, and she moans, hands flying to the front of my shirt, fisting into the material.
That’s my girl.
After a second, I tear my lips away and look at dickbag. “Everything she said, but also… if we weren’t here right now, I’d break your fucking nose for talking to her like that.”
A waiter passes by with a tray, and I swipe one of the crystal glasses off, unable to keep the smirk off my face as I turn back to him and toss the entire glass of champagne onto his face, coating that stupid fucking tie and his entire front. “Guess this will have to do.”
Rosalie laughs beside me, reaching up to cover her mouth before whispering, “Holy shit, Wells!”
“Let’s go, baby. You’ve given this fucker enough of your time.”
With that, I slip my hand in hers, tangling our fingers together, and then I pull her toward the exit, away from this bullshit and the motherfucker who never deserved her.