Page 93 of Filthy Twisted Devil

Stay strong. It’s good advice for a man who can’t stop missing his fake girlfriend, and can’t do shit to change that.

“Quit tanking and make a decision,” Ryan groans as James stares at his hand. “It’s been two minutes.”

“Don’t rush me,” James says. “You try thinking critically with a newborn.”

“Yeah,” Nate says. “Sylvie woke me up three times last night. I haven’t slept for eight straight hours for months.”

“Well, get over it. This is a casual poker game. Who cares if you mess up one hand?” Ryan says.

“You do,” we all say in unison.

“You pout if you lose a hand you think you shouldn’t have,” Beau says.

“I’m a professional poker player!” Ryan says. “I get to hold myself to a higher performance standard. Now James, are you going to call or not?”

James bites his lower lip thoughtfully, then shoves a stack of chips forward. “Raise.”

Ryan’s the only one who calls him. I deal out the rest of the cards, and James takes the hand with a two-pair.

“See?” Beau points at Ryan. “You’re pouting now!”

“Because it’s impossible to play you postpartum dads! I can’t read them. Their tells are all over the place. Nate’s eye keeps twitching, and I have no idea what it means.”

“It means Sylvie woke me up three times last night,” Nate says.

“Does that mean you need a coffee instead of a whiskey?” I ask.

“It means I need both.”

“Come with me,” Beau says, patting me on the shoulder. “Let’s get these guys some caffeine and alcohol. You can help me carry.”

We both stroll over to the bar, where Beau busies himself grinding up coffee.

“So,” he says. “How’s wedding prep going?”

I raise my brows. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Well, your girlfriend’s the one who’s planning the wedding, so you know more than I do.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” My four least favorite words. “So it’s not like we’re talking while she’s gone.”

Beau pauses and looks at me. “You’re not texting?”

“No. Why would we?”

He tilts his head and looks knowingly at me. “Bro.”

“What do you mean, bro?”

“It means I’ve been there.” Beau claps me on the back. “When I was doing it, I thought I was getting away with it. I wasn’t.”

My whole body goes still, because I know exactly what he means.

When he was pretending not to be in love with Brinley, he was lying to himself, too.

Beau doesn’t press me. He just finishes making up two Americanos for Nate and James and nods his head to the whiskey bottle on the counter. “You can grab that.”

I follow his instructions and tail him back to the table, where I automatically refill everyone’s glass. When I sip my whiskey, I don’t even taste it. I’m too busy processing. Beau knows I’m in love with Eden. He’s watched it happen over the past seven months, and he said nothing, because Beau’s too kind to rush me into admitting it.