Lover (Court University 4)

Fucking heaven, this woman was actually making me breakfast. I couldn’t remember the last time a girl had done that for me. I was usually the one in the kitchen, lots of practice helping my mom out. Especially after her divorce from my father. She’d served him papers right before he went into the clink, but that didn’t mean it’d been easy for her.

I felt like I was coming home from college every other month to help her out, making her breakfast. I stopped coming when it started to be the other way around, her making me breakfast, and probably the last time a woman ever did that for me. Actually, that was probably also the last time I had a woman press and handle my laundry for me.

And my boxers.

Jesus, Bri.

She had them right there, folded and perfect on her vanity table. My wallet and wrist watch also beside it, she had all the shit I’d taken off before bed perfectly aligned.

Laughing, I slid the watch over my Court ring and to my wrist, clasping it before picking up my phone—also there. That was arranged on top of my boxers. This Bri was something else, and I had to say, getting her out of what was clearly her anal comfort zone would be fun. Had been fun. I liked to push her, make her laugh and smile when that seemed difficult for her. It’d only made it better for me since it had been hard to get her to break down a little.

I slipped my boxers on, and my next move had been to go out to her until my phone buzzed.

A text from December flashed on the screen, completely killing my vibe. Of course, the fact it did completely radiated the guilt. I obviously cared about my friend, but I’d just gotten out of my head and hadn’t really been trying to go back to that place. Not when I’d just gotten out.

You’re fine. You’re good.

And I was still her right-hand man, technically. I didn’t know if the official man of honor duties stopped just because the wedding was over, so it’d look really bad if I just ignored her now.

Only that made me swipe, look at my device. I started to read the screen until my phone buzzed again and her entire face flashed on the front.

Shit, is she really calling me right now?

She was. She was calling me here and now when she was supposed to be doing only God knew what with her husband. God definitely knew and I did too.

Chriiist.

I answered. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I answered because I always did. I was always there for her.

The wedding had just given me an excuse.

Scrubbing into my hair, I let my head fall against the wall. “What’s up?”

A laugh on her end. A laugh because she didn’t know. I mean, I was her friend. Always answered for her so why should this morning be any different?

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nbsp; “What’s up?” A curious tone to her voice before a light chuckle. “Who pissed in your Cheerios? No good morning? What the fuck?”

“Good morning.” I tried to keep the growl out of my voice, the frustration not warranted. Because she didn’t know. Because I wouldn’t let her know.

Just call me Sergeant Pushover.

I opened my eyes. “Sorry. What’s going on? Just surprised to hear from you.”

She did just get married last night, and her husband in the background growling let me know that. How was it possible to hear a scowl over a line? Well, Royal Prinze managed it.

“It’s Ramses, babe,” I heard her say, and before I knew it, her protest rang and his stick-in-the-mud voice drummed into the phone.

“Mallick,” he said, his chuckle dark but there. “These calls going to keep up when I’m on my honeymoon with my wife.”

My eyes lifted toward the heavens, my foot propped against the wall when I tucked a hand under my pit. “She called me, bro.”

“Did she?” A pause. “Did you?”

She obviously hadn’t told him, and when another, “Babe,” sounded into the line, I rolled my eyes again. Royal Prinze could be a possessive motherfucker. Warranted or not.

Another barked laugh. “Well, would you look at that.”