You’re a headache sober. I can’t imagine what you’re like when you’re drunk.

“Wow. I hope you’re more charming to said company than you are to me.”

“I’m the same me across the board, baby.”

She rolls her eyes, making my grip tighten around her ankle. Her bratty behavior sparks a need to pin her to a surface, any surface, and do god awful things to her body. It both infuriates and excites me. Just like her. Winter Sommers—the woman with two seasons for a name.

“Alright, Richie Rich. Go put on something casual. I’m serious. I don’t want to see you wearing anything with buttons or a dry-clean only tag. Come out of that room wearing something with an elastic waist.”

“Seriously? Are we going to work out or something?”

“No, tight-ass. We’re going to have fun. You know what that is, right? Plus, I’m sick of looking at you in your three-piece suits.”

“Alright. But if I have to wear something with an elastic waistband, you have to wear something with not an elastic waistband. Come out of that room in something sexy, sweetheart, or the deal is off.”

“You’re grotesque,” Winter says, shaking her head.

“And you are going to fall in love with me.”

Another eye roll. “Fat chance of that happening.”

I move my hand up her leg slowly, but she swats it away when I get to her inner thigh.

“Fine.” She lifts her chin confidently. “I’ll wear something more formal. But you have to promise me one thing…”

“What’s that?”

“That you won’t try to have sex with me.”

“Fat chance of that happening.”

* * *

Am I the dumbest prick on the planet?

I can answer that… Yes. The title Dumbest Prick on the Planet is reserved solely for me, Aleck Rexford Fox. Aleck “Dumb Prick” Rexford Fox.

Did I seriously agree to going out with Winter? Drinking at a damn karaoke dive bar no less? I’m losing my shit and losing it fast. I deserve whatever result this night brings. And thank fucking god there’s no HR department assigned to my social life because they’d rule this decision a liability of epic proportions.

Let’s go over some outcomes: Outcome A.) We have a god-awful time. Because she’s right, I’m everything she hates in a man and she’s “like, so beneath me.” Her words, not mine. The sexual tension fizzles out because we then agree we’re far too opposite to attract. All of our fun banter fueled by sexual oppression stops, then this wedding goes from semi-exciting with a woman like Winter to play with to level twenty excruciating.

I’d be counting down the seconds until this all ends, not even able to drown the misery in ample amounts of pussy because my boring, stick-up-her-ass roommate made me promise no women in the suite.

Which, yeah, I agreed to for the closet space, but I also agreed to it because Rebecca was right, Winter could have asked for anything as leverage, but she asked for that. And she did it in her goddamn panties. A negotiation tactic that rivals that of the best lawyers I’ve ever worked with.