The Billionaire's Best Frienemy Dakota Rebel (ebook reader for comics txt) 📖

steady. “I have to go tell her I love her. Tell her I’m sorry. Push her off the swing set.”

“No pushing pregnant women,” Tatum barked.

“It was a meta—a metaph—I’m not really gonna push her, stupid.” I rolled my eyes and hiccupped.

“Luke is probably right,” Bennett said. “Maybe, this could wait until tomorrow.”

“Now!” I pointed toward the door. “Tatum, drive me!”

“No fucking way.” Tatum laughed.

“Chase!” I yelled.

“I’m your huckleberry,” Chase said, getting to his feet.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Luke said. “Chase can’t drive you. He’s three sheets, too.”

“I’ll call Em,” Chase said excitedly. “She’ll drive us!”

“That’s a great idea!” I said, slapping his face a little harder than I’d meant to. “I can get her on my side, and we can all gang up on Willow. Make her accept my marriage proposal.”

“You idiots are going home,” Bennett insisted. “Emerson is going to ring Chase’s neck, and Willow would never speak to you again if you showed up at her house piss drunk in the middle of the night.”

“You guys are party poopers,” I said, dropping back down into my chair. Luke was whispering something to Tatum, so I leaned forward and snagged my drink, knocking back the shot in one pull. “I should at least call her.”

“There you go!” Chase said, punching my arm so hard I fell over into Tatum.

“You two are ridiculous,” Tatum said, shoving me back upright. “Every time the five of us go out, it’s always you two who can’t handle your liquor.”

“Fuck off,” Chase and I said together. Then we burst into laughter.

It was actually pretty rare that the five of us ever got together anymore. I’d missed hanging out with my brothers. And despite what Tatum thought, I very rarely drank.

Granted, I was drunk. Very, very drunk. But drunk just makes you honest, right? So, if I called her three sheets to the wind and confessed my love to her, she’d have no choice but to believe me.

“You know you’re talking out loud, right?” Luke asked, narrowing his gaze at me.

“I did not realize that, no,” I admitted with a shrug. I pulled out my phone and pushed Willow’s contact information. “But I’m not wrong.”

The phone rang a few times then kicked to voicemail.

“Voicemail,” I whispered loudly to the guys. “Wills, it’s Jamie.”

“Jamie,” Chase cooed, moving in to whisper into the receiver. “Your baby daddy.”

I shoved him off me.

“Sorry, he’s drunk.” I cleared my throat. “Willow, you know I love you. Can we please stop playing games and just get hitched already? You’re being really stupid. Call me, okay?”

I hung up and dropped my phone on the table, giving a wide grin to my brothers…who were all staring at me with horrified looks on their faces. Even Chase.

“What?” I asked.

“Did you just call her stupid?” Luke asked, his tone taking on that dangerous low thing it did when he was really pissed.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Probably. She is stupid.”

“Boy,” Tatum said, chuckling softly. “You’re so fucked.”

Chapter Seven

~ Willow I’m-the-Stupid-One? Tate ~

I listened to Jameson’s voicemail for the third time since getting up this morning.

Willow, you know I love you. Can we please stop playing games and just get hitched already? You’re being really stupid. Call me, okay?

Sipping my decaf, which yes did taste different from regular, I pressed play again. The phone was halfway through the almost amusing message when someone hammered on my door. The same voice, only much grumpier, bellowed my name from the other side.

“Willow! Open up!”

My amusement fading, I scowled and marched for the door.

“What the hell is your problem?” I demanded as I yanked it open and he almost fell inside.

Straightening, he took in my fuzzy pants and baggy T-shirt. “Oh God, did I wake you up? I know you pregnant ladies need all the sleep.” He captured my arm and started herding me back toward my room.

“Oh my lord, you’re still drunk.”

“Probably,” he admitted.

“So I break the news to you, you just leave, go get skunk-ass drunk and show up here still impaired? Not winning a lot of points, Malloy.”

“I took an Uber.”

I pulled my arm from his grip and headed back to the kitchen and my coffee. In my small apartment, that was about six steps. Jameson followed on my heels and plopped down on the stool beside mine at the breakfast bar.

“Do you have more coffee?”

“In the pot. It’s decaf. I’m not sure it will do you a lot of good.”

He made a face. “I think right now, anything will help. So look,” he said as I grabbed him a mug, filled it with brew then slid it toward him black like he preferred it, “I think you and I should go away somewhere. We can be alone. See if we can work—which I know we will because you love me and I love you, damn it. And…then…I don’t know, I’ll prove I love you. Where can we go that I can fight a bear for you or something?”

He was absolutely sincere, and it took everything in me not to laugh. “I don’t know that we’re compatible. Fire and water could love each other, but they’ll also destroy each other.”

His eyes squinted. “You give me a headache.”

“No, whiskey is giving you a headache. Also, I just started work. I can’t go off on a vacation.”

“I know the bosses,” he whisper-yelled. “I can arrange it. Worked for Chase and Emerson and for Luke and Laura.”

“Luke and Laura didn’t go anywhere.”

“They didn’t leave their penthouse, either. But your apartment is too small, and the neighbors will complain about all the screaming I’ll make you do.” I stared at him, just riveted by the directions of his inebriated mind. “And my place…too many fighting memories. Lots of good fucking there, too.” He made a karate chop motion with both hands. “But no. This can’t be about that. We need neutral ground. Like Switzerland. You have a passport still?”

“Yes?”

“Good. Go pack. We’re going to Switzerland. I’ll get my pilot to prepare the plane.”

I just stood there and took another sip of