No Reservations - Megan Hart [100]
Darren Weedman, also known as Dickweed, grinned and pumped Brandon's hand. 'Haven't seen you in for-fucking-ever man. What've you been up to?'
Brandon ran down the short list, including work and ending with '. . . getting married in a few months.
'No shit. You? Really?' Darren clapped Brandon's shoulder. 'Good for you. I got married last year. Worst fucking thing I ever did.' Brandon raised a brow. 'Yeah?'
Darren's grin didn't falter. 'Nah, I'm shitting you. Hey, let me take you out for a beer. Celebrate.' 'Nah. I should really get home.' 'C'mon, dude. It's been -'
'Forever, right.' There'd been weekends spent with Darren and other of their friends that Brandon was half-glad he couldn't completely remember, but he was a good guy for all that. And he hadn't seen him in a long time. 'Sure. Why not? One beer.' 'Great. I'll text some of the other guys, see if they want to hang. You still see Chris and Jerry?'
'Oh, yeah, saw Jerry last week.' While Darren tapped out messages to other people, Brandon pulled out his phone to send Leah a text. He already knew she'd been planning on getting her nails and hair done after work today, so an hour or so shouldn't be a problem.
Ten minutes later they were at some dive bar with sports on the big screen and hot wings on the table. Beers all around, lots of congratulations and a bit of good-natured ribbing. Some of the guys already knew about the engagement, of course, since Brandon still shot hoops with them or had them over to watch a game. But the more Darren drank, the more Brandon remembered why it had been so long since he'd hung around the guy.
'Seriously, my old ball and chain . . .' Darren shook his head. 'Fucking on my ass, dude. All the flicking time. About everything. What about your old lady? She try to tell you what to fucking do every single second?'
Brandon's phone hummed from his pocket with a reminder of Leah's earlier text messages. 'Yeah. Pretty much.' 'Dude,' said Darren. 'Dickweed,' Brandon answered.
And though most of the guys razzed him when he got up after a single beer and a dozen wings, Brandon only grinned and refused to let them rile him. He was going home to get laid. The rest of them were probably going to spend the night with Mary Palm and her five sisters.
'Later, guys.'
He headed out into the dark parking lot, his collar turned up against the cold that at least had kept the groceries in his trunk fresh. He came up alongside a guy leaning against the brick wall in front of where Brandon had parked. Guy was peeing, the splash of urine loud in the night air.
Gross.
'Hey ..." The man turned, his eyes going wide as he tucked his dick back in his pants.
It was Mike, Leah's ex. Brandon had thought they were done with that douche, who'd finally stopped calling her about a month after Leah and Brandon got together. Now here he was, a pimple that needed squeezing. 'Dude,' Brandon said. 'Go away.'
Mike sneered. 'Saw your engagement announcement in the paper.' 'You're not invited.'
Mike put a hand over his heart. 'Oh, I'm hurt.'
Brandon shook his head. He didn't have time for this jerk. He had a hopefully homy fiancee waiting for him at home. Thinking about it again - the fact she had, indeed, agreed to marry him, that Leah would be his wife in just a few short months - Brandon let out a soft chuckle.
You laughing at me, you prick?'
Shit. The guy just wouldn't let it rest. Brandon turned again. 'No, man. Look, I know you were carrying a torch and ail that and, believe me, I get it. If I'd been stupid enough to let Leah get away from me, I'd be pretty pissed off at myself, too. But you have to back off.'
'Let her get away?' Mike coughed. 'Right. Like I wasn't finished with that bitch?'
Brandon had opened the driver's door but now paused, a hand on it. His shoulders straightened. His teeth gritted. He let go of the door and turned around, and Mike, that stupid fuck, didn't even have the sense to back up.