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“I absolutely fucking do not.”
“You're right,” Dane says.
Thank Christ.
Then he adds, “Carolina's better at it.”
I glare at him. His mouth twitches.
Asshole.
“Speaking of Carolina,” he says, checking something on his tablet, “I should probably wrap this up. The wives are at your place.”
My brain stops.
“What?”
Dane looks up.
“The wives.”
“I heard that part. Why are the wives at my house?”
“Book club.”
Book club.
In my library.
Fuck.
I stare at him. Dane stares back. Then something cold crawls down my spine.
“Layla's at the house.”
“I know.”
My head snaps toward him.
“You know?”
“Carolina invited her to join them.”
For perhaps three full seconds, I can't formulate a response. That almost never happens. Tank is already laughing. I ignore him.
“Your wife invited Layla to book club?”
“Apparently.”
“With all of them?”
“That's generally how book club works, Knight.”
Fuck me.
My mind immediately supplies images.
Carolina.
