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TWENTY-SIX
god is a woman
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AVOIDING HUMAN INTERACTION-other than Giselle-for the rest of the night served my bad mood well.
Armed with enough carbs to fill all three guys, old movies, and the knowledge that phase two was complete, I had successfully banished all Dean related thoughts to the back of my mind.
Knowing exactly what phase three entailed and how merciless it would be on Dean's career, my anger dissipated, along with the remnants of my hangover from that afternoon.
Truthfully, though, the only thing stopping me from smashing the rest of the bottle of Grey Goose was the disappointing fact that Giselle couldn't drink it with me.
Leaving the bottle to myself would only result in hospitalization, and the fact that Giselle routinely took trips to the bathroom last night didn't sit well with me.
Unfortunately for her, I was far from naïve-running the sink didn't do much to disguise the sound of her emptying the contents of her stomach.
I didn't want to press the matter, because apparently I wasn't well versed in handling sensitive subjects. The Rosie thing kind of blew up in my face, and it took later reflection on my part to realize I didn't go about it in the best way.
But, I digress.
Giselle would come to me soon, once she got her head out of her ass and accepted the fact that I knew exactly what she feared was going on.
Not that I blamed her.
With situations like that, the moment you say out loud it becomes . . . tangible. I was positive that Giselle didn't want her fears to become real.
The sound of front door opening and closing pulled me out of my thoughts. It was then that I realized I had been awake for a while, but instead chose to keep my eyes shut and ignore the sunlight pouring through my window.
Giselle was still fast asleep, which was made apparent by her soft snores and the tiny puddle of moisture that pooled in the corner of her mouth. I stifled the urge to take a picture.
Slipping out slowly from beside her, I made my way downstairs to see which of my family members chose to return.
Tristan stood in front of the fridge, toting a carton of orange juice, sans shirt. I rolled my eyes. Guys who knew they had a toned body always took any opportunity to show it off, even to an audience of zero.
"How was 'guy's night'?" I questioned, leaning against the marble island.
The abrupt sound of my voice caused him to jump, and he turned around with a pointed glare that only siblings could give.
