Treasure [h.s]

| 39 - Tongue Fiasco |

To say that multitasking is a strong suit of mine would be a lie. Well, mundane office work on repeat doesn't count. But listening to my best friend ramble on and on about various casual sex encounters with my husband's best friend while also trying to think of ways to retaliate against said husband has proven to be, well, difficult.

"–and then when we got back to my place, Daddy saw us walking upstairs but he didn't even say anything! He just looked like he saw a ghost. Isn't that weird?" Grace chews her mouthful of food and pouts, thinking over the situation herself.

Despite half listening to Grace fill the quiet the entire time we've been having lunch, my eyes flick up to hers with interest. "Really?" I raise my brows. "He said... nothing? While you were dragging Niall up to your bedroom?"

"Not. A. Word." She nods, popping a fry into her mouth. "He just blinked and walked away. And get this, when I looked at Niall–who was looking at Daddy–he was smiling. Just smiling at my father knowing we were going to have sex!"

I tilt my head. That can't be good.

"Did Niall say anything?"

"Nope." She pops the p sound as she takes a sip of her drink. "Just kept that smirk on his face as he fucked me into the next morning." She shrugs.

I grimace at her words, laughing quietly at her lack of boundaries.

"So..." She eyes me up and down, now that she's gotten me to start talking. "What's got you so in a mood that your one-day-husband is texting me to pick you up?"

I blow out a heavy sigh and rub the heels of my hands over my eyes. "I'm having Harry problems," I state vaguely.

"Okay..." She purses her lips before biting into her burger.

"He did something that he shouldn't have, and I made him dinner." Not a lie.

Her chewing stops only for a second before a smile breaks out on her face. "And that makes you upset?"

"What he did and how I handled it is making me upset."

"Be a little more vague, why don't you." She laughs, never once looking up to meet my unamused gaze.

I take a long sip of my cocktail and close my eyes. "One day came a lot sooner than I expected," I mumble, hoping she won't catch on to what I said.

But judging by the cough coming from her chest as she chokes on a fry, she heard me. "Okay, now is not the time to be vague. What the fuck does that mean?" she asks skeptically, looking all around my body–no, my hand.

"My birthday," I start, leaning back in the booth. "When I was super plastered?"

"Don't remember it, keep going." She nods, shoving more fries in her mouth like popcorn.

"He took me upstairs so I could go to bed, and after he took care of me until I was on the brink of falling asleep, he somehow tricked me into signing a marriage license," I mumble, tearing away at my breadstick.