14. Sully
Sully
“ G et down, Dammit.” Brian uses the back of his hand to push the massive cat off his desk.
Except Fuzzy Wuzzy, now lovingly known as Dammit, thanks to my best friend, has other ideas.
He turns in a slow circle, unbothered by Brian’s cursing and his efforts to force him to the floor, then lies down, his body taking up half of the oversized desk.
Brian lets a slow breath out of his nose and looks up at me. “What?”
I shake my head. “Better you than me.”
The growling sound he makes is typically the kind reserved for Cal, but I stand by my statement. I have enough going on without having to care for a cat the size of a donkey.
“Did you come in here just to mock me?”
“No.” I nod down at the bright blue box in my hand.
Brian frowns at the illustrations of deformed animals on the top.
I pluck out a bright blue rabbit, then a pink sheep, and a red mouse.
“I don’t want those things,” he says, rolling his chair back.
Ignoring him, I set each one on his desk and press down, ensuring the suction cups keep them firmly in place. When I glance back up, he’s glowering at me.
“They aren’t for you.” He’s not the one who needs a distraction.
“Then why are you putting them on my desk?” He swipes at the blue one, causing it to make a satisfying set of pops as the suction cups release from the wood.
“T.J.’s therapist suggested that we try fidget toys to help curb his impulsive behaviors.”
And that word, impulsive, immediately made me think of another person whose impulsive behavior I’ve dealt with my whole life.
“I thought that maybe if we leave these around the office, Cal will play with them instead of throwing shite at me.”
The laugh starts deep in Brian’s chest. “You bought these for your brother? I can see the appeal for kids, but for an adult? Good luck with that.” Yet even as he says the words, he continues popping the bubbles on the front and back of the bunny.
The cat recoils at the sound and swipes the cup of pens off the desk.
“Dammit.” Brian growls.
I swing into Lo’s office next, because my brother spends more time there than anywhere else. Can’t blame him for that. If Sloane worked in this office, I’d want to be in her presence every chance I got.
“So what?” she’s saying as I approach. “Pregnant or not, you’ll look hot in that dress.”
I freeze, taking in Lo’s profile. She’s looking out the window, her mobile pressed to her ear, obviously talking to my wife. I inch closer, eager to hear more of the conversation, but before she can say more, there is another crash from Brian’s office.
“Dammit.” He growls again.
Lo startles, her attention darting to the door, and upon seeing me, she says, “Got to go.”
Bugger. Would have been nice to know what she was wearing without having to outright ask Lo and put her in the middle .
“Sloane?” I ask innocently as I step into the room.
She nods as she watches me line up a yellow elephant and a green giraffe on the edge of her desk. “Cal or T.J.?”
“Both,” I admit.
She chuckles. “T.J. will love the noises they make when he rips them off, but you may regret giving Cal more things to throw at you.”
I wince. I hadn’t considered that he’d use them as ammo. But I’m too distracted to care about these damn fidget toys now.
“What’s Sloane up to?”
Lo glances away, not meeting my eye. “You know. Shopping. Her favorite.”
I hum a nonresponse and wait. Lo babbles when she’s nervous, so all I have to do is be patient, and I’ll get the information I need.
“She’s worried because her clothes are getting tight, and she wants to look good for the Higgins, Smith, and Dodge Christmas party.” She swallows, still not looking at me. “She’ll look great in anything. She always does. But you know how she gets.”
“That I do.” I could let this go, but Sloane and I have a tradition that I have no intention of breaking. “What’s she wearing?”
She taps her desk, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, then snags the green giraffe. Instead of playing with the bubbles like Brian, she sticks it to the desk and pulls it away again, then again.
“Lo?”
Attention still fixed on the toy, she mumbles, “You know she’s going with someone else…”
My heart lurches. I’ve been afraid to even mention the Christmas party since the day she received the invite. That night, just before we stepped into the flat, I risked her wrath and gently grabbed her by the elbow.
“Sweetheart,” I said.
She hummed but didn’t meet my eye.
“I’d love to take you to the Christmas party. If you’d like.” I tacked on the last few words as if I wasn’t dying to go with her, trying my damnedest to be nonchalant .
Sloane nodded quickly, though she wouldn’t make eye contact.
“I’ll, um, I’ll let you know.” Then she rushed inside.
I stayed out in the parking lot for a few minutes, composing myself.
I’d seen her lack of interest. And I’d felt in my bones that she might already have a date.
That or an interest in going with someone else.
Every inch of me rebels at the idea of my wife dating another man. Not this weekend. Not ever. But I keep my mouth shut. Yelling at Lo won’t get me what I want.
Yelling and growling have become my default over the last couple of years, but I’ve promised myself that I’ll do better.
I clear my throat, willing the ache in my chest to subside. “Since the first event Sloane and I attended together, I’ve made it a habit to rent a necklace to match her dress.”
Sloane should always feel like the most treasured woman in the room, and I’ve always loved spoiling her with jewelry from the finest designers. Almost as much as I love watching her expression when I slip the necklace around her neck.
Lo finally looks up at me. “You’ll do that even though she’s going with someone else?”
The pain in my chest flares. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”
Lo’s eyes widen like she’s surprised by the intensity of my statement.
Good, because I mean every damn word. And if I thought it’d do me any good, I’d crash the damn party to win her back from the jackass she shows up with.
“I see you will be taking matters into your own hands. What a lovely plan,” a husky voice says from behind me.
I whip around, startled, and find Madame E beaming at me.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
She leans against the doorframe and smirks. Today, rather than wearing layers and layers of flowy fabric, she’s dressed in a one-piece…uh, unitard? I think that’s the appropriate term for the skintight pink-and-white-striped garment .
“Oh, Sullivan.” Her violet eyes dance. “I think you know exactly what that means.”
Do I? I blink, rehashing my idea. Which parts did I say out loud? Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t verbalize the party-crashing option. Does that mean she can read my thoughts? No. That’s absurd.
She gives me a nod, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Lungs seizing, I step back. Bloody hell. Maybe she can hear the inner workings of my brain.
But Madame E shifts her attention to Lo. “Don’t just sit there gaping at me. You and Callahan are accompanying me to yoga. Get moving.”
“We are?” Lo asks, standing from her desk.
“Spit-spot,” she commands.
Without hesitation, Lo hurries out of the room.
Madame E follows, calling to me over her shoulder. “Into your hands, Sullivan. Into your hands.”
There’s no stopping my smile. Yeah, I’m going to crash a party. How very unlike me.