Page 10 of Good Boy
"No."
Like a snake, I let the tip of my tongue run along my top lip before retreating it back inside my mouth.
His brow arched, a smirk dancing on his face. "I don't give two shits who you fuck. Just make sure you're not dragging the Ashbourne name through the mud while you're hunting for your next piece of ass."
A moment of silence passed between us, and he ran a hand through his perfectly gelled hair. Whatever insults he had lined up, he decided to keep them at bay for now.
There was nothing exciting going on outside, the summer breeze alive with the canopy of chatter flowing into the garage from the balcony above us.
"Sweetheart?" a shallow voice called from the entrance.
Weston tossed me a glare as his wife approached, an implicit demand ordering me to keep my mouth shut. Cynthia stopped by his side, her eyes searching his stoic face for any sign of disappointment. I let my eyes travel over Cynthia. She was petite, with a razor-thin shape, and a long neck. But her eyes were warm, and her smile, albeit strained most of the time, was sincere.
I cleared my throat, stealing her attention, and she walked over to me, her arms stretched out for a hug. Weston rolled his eyes, annoyed that Cynthia was giving me a sliver of attention. Our conversation was mundane, she asked the usual questions, and I gave her the same bullshit answers I'd given everyone else.
"Are you working while you're here?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"Yeah, I got a job lined up."
Weston huffed and shook his head. Cynthia glanced between the both of us, only her thoughts filling in the blanks as a stretch of silence fell upon us.
"Are you staying here?" She pointed to the house.
"Yes, he is," Weston interjected.
Cynthia's shoulders slumped, and then her hands found her hips as her head turned in Weston's direction. I stifled the twinge of cruel giddiness that overtook me once I realized Cynthia was going to make things ten times worse.
"Weston," she said, slapping his arm lightly. "Darius can stay with us—"
"No. No. No."
Cynthia grabbed my hand. "Yes, you can. We have three extra bedrooms in our downtown condo and they aren't being used."
A low growl of dissatisfaction left Weston's lips, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Well, there’s no point in him commuting four hours every day. That's just silly. You can stay with us. I'll tell Albert's driver to drop you off tonight. We're headed home soon."
"That's what cars are for, my dear. Of which he has access to plenty," Weston said, his words clipped as he looked around the garage.
"He's young. He needs to be in the city, not—"
Weston stormed off, leaving Cynthia and me all alone. She revealed a sympathetic smile before following after her asshole husband.
See you at home, fucker.
My eyes narrowed at the clock. It was well after midnight. A knock on the door broke my focus, and I jumped involuntarily.
Who the fuck—
I yanked open the door, a curse dying on my lips. Darius fucking Ashbourne slouched against the frame, hazel eyes glinting with amusement above that infuriating smirk.
“The fuck you doing here?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Darius shrugged, shoving past me into the foyer. “Your wife invited me to crash. Did you forget?”
Annoyance grabbed me by the jaw. Although Cynthia had invited him to stay, I really didn't think he'll take her up on the offer. But of course, he would, he was well aware that his presence irritated the shit out of me. I gritted my teeth as Darius eyed the open-concept space, his boots thudding heavily on the hardwood. His duffel hit the floor by the couch with a dull bump.
“Make yourself at home,” I bit out.