My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)
My Rules: Chapter 7

I drive onto Kingston Lane just at 7:00 p.m. It’s been a long, hard week. I’ve suffered the crippling effects of alcohol poisoning for all of it, and the worst thing is that I’m about to do it all again. It’s Thursday night, and tomorrow at lunchtime, we all leave to go and spend the weekend at the Fairmont Resort, the venue of the much-anticipated nuptials.

We have the wedding rehearsal tomorrow afternoon and then the prewedding dinner. The wedding is on Saturday, where thankfully, I’m not allowed to have one sip of alcohol. I would love to tell you it was Juliet’s idea, but in truth, it was Henley’s. Apparently, I can’t be trusted with my speech if I’m inebriated, and my first drink of the night will be as I make a toast.

With the way I feel right now, that suits me just fine. I don’t want to drink again for the rest of my life anyway. I pull into my driveway, and as my garage door goes up, I can see that the lights are on in my house.

Ugh . . .

I park my car and head into my house through the internal garage door.

Henley and Antony are in my kitchen, sitting at the counter with a pen and paper.

“What are you morons doing here?” I sigh as I open my fridge and peer in.

“Writing speeches,” Antony replies. “You need to help.”

“I . . .” I shake my head as I pull out a carton of orange juice. “I’m incapable of writing anything remotely interesting.” I open the carton and begin to drink from it. “I’m tired.”

“Tired?” Henley frowns. “How can you still be tired? It’s Thursday.”

“Vegas fucked me up the ass, okay? I’m flatlining. I’ve had a hangover that’s lasted four days, I’m busy as all hell at work, my voice is hoarse, my dick is fucking sore, and to top it off, I’m now having hot flashes.”

“Your dick is sore because you dry humped a mannequin twenty minutes after you had it pierced, you fucking idiot,” Henley snaps.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as the memory swings back around. “Honestly, I don’t know what goes through my pea brain at times.”

“We need to do these speeches.”

“Tomorrow.” I keep drinking the orange juice as I peer into the depressingly empty refrigerator. “I keep hoping that the food fairy is going to miraculously deliver me groceries every day while I’m at work, but the bitch never shows.”

“Pull it together, man. Who gives a crap about groceries?” Antony sighs. “We have speeches to write.” He picks up his pen. “And why the hell would you be having hot flashes?”

“He’s in menopause now.” Henley rolls his eyes. “Nothing would surprise me anymore.”

I slam the fridge shut. “Why are you at my house doing this?”

“Because Juliet’s cousins are all at my place, and they’ve taken over everything, and I’m about to jump out the window to put myself out of my misery,” he says in a creepily calm voice as he fakes a smile. “That’s why.”

“And my brother is fighting with his wife in my kitchen while his children sleep on my living room floor,” Antony adds.

Huh?

I hold both my hands up in question but am too tired to even open my mouth to ask it. “Whatever.” I slide my shoes off and walk into the living room and lie on the couch. I kick off the cushions and raise my legs to rest on the back of the couch. “Someone at least order takeout or something. I’m fucking starving.” I put the back of my forearm over my eyes. “I really need to go to bed. Actually . . .” I get up and get a packet of frozen peas, lie back down, and put them over my crotch. My cock is throbbing like a motherfucker.

“Better?” Antony asks.

“Better.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t care.” I sigh.

“Lasagna?” They have a chuckle between themselves.

“Very funny,” I snap. “Antony, we are swapping partners at the wedding.”

“No, you’re not,” Henley snaps.

“I am not talking to Rebecca, let alone dancing with her.”

“Yes. You. Are.”

“And don’t you dare go on with your jealous ape act and beat up anyone who looks at her at the wedding,” Antony warns.

“I am not jealous of Rebecca.” I screw up my face. “As if.”

“Yeah right,” Antony scoffs.

“I escorted John from the property because he deserved it.” I point to the front door. “Now . . . get out of my house before I escort you both out in the same manner.”

I load the car with our bags, and Antony climbs in. “We have to pick up Chloe after we get Rebecca.”

I pull up out front and beep my horn, and the front door opens. “I’m coming.” Bec holds up her finger. “Two minutes.”

I stop the car and get out as I wait. Eventually I walk through the open front door and into Rebecca’s house. The best way to get through this weekend is to just pretend everything is normal. “Can I take this suitcase out to the car?” I call.

Rebecca comes around the corner. “Yes, please.”

“You know we’re only going for two nights, right?” I look over her giant suitcase.

“Yes.” She turns the television off and switches her alarm on.

“I hope this huge suitcase fits in my car.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Should I drive my car?”

“No, it’ll be fine. I’ll give my bag to Henley to take in his car.” I wheel her suitcase down the driveway and then open the trunk. I pull out my bag and begin to rearrange.

“Hi, Bec.” Antony gets out of the car.

“Hello.” She smiles and gives him a peck on the cheek. “I’m so excited.”

“Me too.”

“Hi, guys,” a voice says from across the street. We glance up to see Taryn; she’s in short denim shorts and a hot-pink bikini top, and she’s wearing roller skates. Her huge boobs are hanging out everywhere.

“Whoa. What’s happening with the girls today, Taz?” I say before I put my mouth-to-brain filter on.

“Oh.” She laughs and shimmies her shoulders, and they wobble around. “They’re hard to hide, so I don’t even bother trying anymore.”

Antony and I exchange glances.

“Yeah, well.” I dig out Antony’s bag from the trunk. “Don’t give yourself two black eyes.”

“Ha ha, I’ll try.” She twirls her hair around her finger. “You guys leaving for the wedding?”

“Yep,” I reply as I continue to rearrange the trunk.

“I’ll see you there tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“I have some great footage from the other night, boys.”

“What night?” I ask. I pull one bag out and put it down onto the road.

“Carol’s party night.”

What?

My eyes meet Antony’s again, and a frown furrows his brow.

“Okay then, see you tomorrow, Taryn,” I say. “We have to get going.”

Go away. Go away right now.

Taryn shimmies her boobs again. Seriously . . . those things need their own zip code.

I glance into the back seat at Rebecca to see the subtle roll of her eyes.

Fuck it.

“Help me take the bags over to Hen’s.” I widen my eyes at Antony as I throw my bag into his arms. I grab his bag and power walk over to Henley’s as Antony runs to keep up.

“What footage does she have of us?” I whisper under my breath.

“Who knows.”

“Did we fucking tag team her or something?”

“No,” he scoffs.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He shrugs and then shakes his head. “Pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure?” My eyes widen in horror. “Pretty sure is not good enough.”

“Well . . . what were you doing at the time, dickhead? Why is it only up to me to remember your misdemeanors? Because trust me, there’s a lot of them. I can’t keep up.”

“I’m never touching alcohol again,” I huff as I stomp up Henley’s front steps. “This is it; I have reached my limits.”

Henley casually walks out the front door. “What are you doing?”

“Taryn has footage of us from the night of Carol’s party,” I whisper.

Henley’s eyes rise across the road to see Taryn in her roller skates talking to Rebecca through the car window. “That can’t be good.”

“Oh . . . you think?” I spit.

“Did you ask Rebecca if she wrote the book?” Henley asks.

“No,” I snap. “She didn’t write the fucking book.”

“And we know this how?”

“Because I asked her about a fisting frenzy and she was completely horrified. Thank you for throwing me under the bus on that, by the way.”

We all look back across the street to the two of them talking.

“I don’t think Taryn wrote it,” Henley replies.

“Why not? A fisting frenzy is right up her alley,” Antony quips.

“Listen, we’ve got bigger fucking problems than a stupid flash drive,” I whisper. “Taryn—”

“Boys.” We are interrupted by Winston coming around the corner.

“Hello, Winston.” We all step back from each other.

“Listen, Blake. Can I have a quick word in private?” he asks as he gestures around the corner.

Huh?

I don’t have time for this shit right now.

“Sure.”

I look up to see Taryn is now doing spins on her roller skates.

Fuck me.

I walk around the corner with Winston. “What is it?”

“Look, Doc,” he says as his eyes dart around guiltily. “I need your help.”

“With?” My eyes rise back across the street to Roller Boob Barbie. If she says something to Rebecca, I swear I’m going to run her over with my car.

“Well . . . with the wedding and all . . .” He shrugs.

“What is it?” I snap impatiently as my eyes stay across the street.

“I’m staying at the hotel tomorrow night, and with all the new ladies in town . . .”

My eyes come back to him, confused.

“I need some blue pills.”

“Oh.” Fuck me dead. “Right.” I finally understand. “Winston, you know I can’t prescribe Viagra to you without a full medical, and I don’t have time to do that right now.”

His shoulders slump in disappointment.

“Why don’t you go and see your PCP this afternoon? He has your medical records, so he can give you a script.”

“He won’t give me anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because he said I’m using too many.”

“How many are you using?” I frown.

“A couple of packets this month.”

“A couple of packets?” I gasp. “Who the hell are you fucking all the time, Winston?”

“I’m in the prime of my life,” he scoffs. “What do you expect?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Not this.”

Good god.

This man is eighty in the shade, and he’s getting more action than anyone I know.

“I can’t help you. I’m sorry, I have to get going. Please, go and see your doctor.”

I march back around the corner in time to see that Roller Boob Barbie has fallen over, and Rebecca is out of the car helping her. This is all I need. If she’s broken something, we are not taking her to the hospital.

“Can we just fucking go already?” I snap to Antony. “This street is getting on my last nerve.”

“Ready when you are.”

Rebecca

I stare out the window and watch the scenery go by. The car is filled with excited chatter between Chloe and the boys, and every now and then I smile and add to the conversation. But on the inside, all I can concentrate on is the eerie feeling of déjà vu that’s creeping in.

I remember driving to my wedding venue as if it was yesterday.

Just like this wedding, we had ours at a resort, and all the guests stayed for two days of celebrations. Feels so recent . . . and yet so far back in time.

A lifetime ago.

“Here she is,” Blake says as we turn into the fancy driveway. The resort comes into view, and we all gasp. It’s a huge country estate with a four-story old mansion and the most beautiful gardens you have ever seen. “Oh wow, check this place out.” Blake smiles. The car drives around a large lake that has ducks swimming in it.

“I hope one of those ducks walks through the wedding when it’s going on.” Chloe smiles as she looks out the window.

“I hope a duck attacks someone,” Blake agrees. “Causes complete chaos.”

“Henley, I hope it attacks Henley.” Antony smiles. We all chuckle as we imagine it.

“I’m hoping the wedding cake crumbles when the waiters bring it out,” Blake says as he parks the car. “Can we have just one chaotic incident, please?”

“Be nice,” I gasp. “I can’t believe you are hoping for things to go wrong.”

“Not wrong,” he replies. “The times you remember the most are the times when crazy shit goes down.”

“True,” Antony replies.

Be careful what you wish for, Dr. Grayson. The crazy shit you dream of is probably going to be me and you fighting to the death.

We get out of the car and make our way into the reception area; our mouths drop open as we look around in wonder. It has black-and-white marble tiles and huge chandeliers and lamps everywhere. The furnishings are all velvet and fancy upmarket antiques.

“Wow,” I whisper. “Will you look at this place.”

“Incredible,” Blake agrees.

“It has a real French feel,” I whisper. “I mean, not that I’ve been to France, but from what I’ve seen in books and magazines.”

“It is very French.” Antony nods as he looks around.

“You’ve never been to France?” Blake frowns.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been to Europe at all.”

“Oh, you have to go,” he says as he steps up to the reception desk. “It’s a must for everyone.”

“One day.” I give a halfhearted smile. Not that I’ll ever be able to afford it.

“Hello, we are here for the James and Drinkwater wedding,” Antony says to the girl at reception.

“Yes.” She types into her computer. “You are the bridal party.”

“Yes.”

Chloe and I smile in excitement. It’s happening.

“We have you booked in the executive suites on the third and fourth floors.”

Blake pulls out his credit card. “I’ll take care of all the rooms, please.”

“No, no.” I cut him off. I’ve been saving for this.

“The rooms have already been taken care of by the groom,” the receptionist tells us.

“Oh.”

“Idiot,” Blake grumbles. “I told him not to pay,” he thinks out loud. “Okay, thank you.”

The receptionist hands over the keys to the rooms. “I have Blake Grayson and Rebecca Dalton on level three. Take the elevator over on the right to level three, and your rooms are down the end of the corridor.”

“Thank you.”

“Then Antony Deluca and Chloe Willcox are on level four. Your elevator is on the left, and your rooms are halfway down the corridor.”

“Thank you.”

We make our way through the foyer. “What time is the wedding rehearsal?”

“Three o’clock.”

I glance at my watch. “Meet back down here in an hour?”

“Okay.”

Blake and I walk to the elevator and push the button. We wait in awkward silence.

The doors open, and we walk in and turn to face them. They close, and we begin to ride up to our floor.

“You know—”

“Don’t talk to me,” he cuts me off.

My mouth falls open. Of all the nerve. “Don’t talk to you?”

“That’s right.” He keeps his eyes facing forward to the doors.

“Don’t you dare gaslight me, Blake Grayson.”

“Ha.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s a joke. You’re gaslighting me. Telling me I’m gaslighting you is typical gaslighting behavior. Can you even hear yourself?”

“How am I gaslighting you?” I snap, outraged.

“You tell me that you hate this man; you tell me that you don’t want him anywhere near you. You tell me that he isn’t allowed on your property. Then he shows up, and I set a clear boundary for him to leave you alone. He refuses, so I step in, and suddenly I’m the bad guy.”

I glare at him.

“I’m not a pushover like some people.” He raises his chin defiantly.

The doors open, and he strides out.

“You think I’m a pushover?” I fume as I follow him down the corridor.

“Don’t think it, I know it.”

“We are trying to come to an agreement on the divorce settlement.”

“Oh please,” he scoffs. “There is no agreement. He is going to railroad you into getting exactly what he wants.”

“How do you know that?” I put my hands on my hips.

“Because unlike you . . . I can see through him. I can see through all these fucking idiots that you think are good guys.”

I begin to hear my angry heartbeat in my ears. “You know what? Coming from a walking red flag like you, that’s a joke.”

“How am I a walking red flag?” he whispers angrily.

“Oh please.” I throw up my hands in disgust. “You cannot be this obtuse.”

“Obtuse.” His eyes bulge in their sockets.

“That’s right,” I spit. “You know as well as I do that you party way too hard every weekend. You sleep with every hot woman you meet. Even our neighbor, who you have constantly told me is not your type . . . which is repulsive, by the way. You keep talking about all these kids you want to have, and yet at the age of thirty-five, you can’t even hold down a girlfriend. When are you planning on settling down and having these children, when you’re eighty? And to top it all off, you get holes punctured through your dick in Vegas and probably have syphilis now.” I grab the key to my room. “If that isn’t out of control, I don’t know what is. So excuse me if I refuse to take relationship advice from a fucking train wreck.”

“How do you know about my dick? I’ll tell you what’s a fucking train wreck,” he spits. “A woman who has a friend who would literally do anything for her, and she treats him like shit.” He grabs his key and holds it to his door.

“I do not treat you like shit, Blake.”

“Want to bet?”

“How?”

“I’ve had the worst ten days feeling like absolute shit because you won’t speak to me, and I’ve missed you, and yet all you’re worried about are the feelings of your toxic ex.”

My heart sinks.

“You can go to hell, Rebecca.”

He walks into his room and slams the door shut in my face.

Damn it.

I walk into my room and flop onto the bed. I stare up at the ceiling as his words roll around in my head.

He’s right. I am a train wreck.