“Even God can’t interfere with my nefarious behavior, but thanks for the royal title. I see you’re dating my best friend,” I drawled.

“Sleeping with him,” she amended. “Yes.”

Grant flashed me an apologetic smile. “You weren’t exactly in the right headspace to talk about this, and as Layla said, she laid down the rules pretty strictly. This is casual and should not affect your or Maddie’s lives.”

Not in the mood to touch this BS with a ten-foot pole, I rolled my eyes, ambling through the door. When Madison and I had broken up, Grant was another person who’d pinned the downfall on me. While I’d forbidden him to keep in touch with her, I didn’t put it past Madison to have played matchmaker to him and Layla. Another trait I absolutely despised about Martyr Maddie—she was always in everyone’s business and forever tried to hook people up with dates, furniture they needed, and social activities.

I especially hated that she’d paired these two together, because Grant actually wanted the whole white-picket-fence-and-sane-wife dream, and the first time I’d met Layla, she’d launched into a forty-minute speech about why monogamy was unnatural. Daisy and Frank would make a more sensible pairing than those two.

I knocked on Madison’s door, hearing Daisy barking excitedly. Mad opened, and I became weak in the knees and hard everywhere else, because what the fuck?

Madison wore a little black dress, snug in all the right places—completely pattern-free—paired with black velvet heels and a turquoise neckpiece. Something between a necklace and a studded collar. Her short brown hair was extra messy in a just-got-fucked purposeful way, her lips were scarlet, and her olive eyes were winged with a dramatic black femme fatale liner. My cock stood for a round of applause, throwing imaginary roses at her feet. The rest of me wondered what had inspired me to do anything else with her back when we were dating other than sleep with her until there was nothing left of her.

“You look great.” I narrowed my eyes into slits, the compliment coming out as an accusation.

She grabbed her purse and keys, frowning at me. “Didn’t you say you wanted to coordinate clothes? I remembered you are very fond of black. Black glossy door, black furniture, black satin sheets . . .” She began to count all the black things in my apartment.

“You forgot the black blinders. Would you like to pay my bedroom another visit?” I offered her a wolfish smirk.

“Hard pass.”

That’s not the only thing that’s hard right now, sweetheart.

I had a violent urge to touch her. Push a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, kiss her cheek in greeting, or perch her on my lap, spread her ass cheeks, and eat her from behind. Before I had the chance to do that (I was going for brushing lint off her sleeve, although orally devouring her was my personal preference), someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind.

The day had been entirely full of unpleasant surprises, but Pediatric Dudebro in his dress shirt, stupid tie, and running tights was the cherry on the shit cake. He grinned at Madison, giving her two thumbs up for the outfit.

“Maddie! I came to get a good-luck kiss before the half marathon.” He was running in place on her threshold beside me, both of us outside her door. I didn’t care how nice this man was. He was oozing douchebagness in radioactive quantities.

“Hi.” He turned to beam at me, offering me his hand. I shook it, making sure I pressed hard enough to almost crush his bones. The only reason I didn’t go for full destruction was because his patients were minors and I had enough reasons to suspect I was the first name on karma’s shit list. If he were a plastic surgeon, catering to bored housewives and vain men, his hand would be marshmallow right about now.

“Chase Black.”

“Ethan Goodman.”

“Ethan is . . .” Mad trailed off, allowing herself a moment to think about what he was to her. We both looked at her expectantly. A slow smile spread across my face. They hadn’t had that conversation yet. They weren’t anywhere near as serious as she wanted me to think they were. Mad cleared her throat. “We’re seeing each other.”

Ethan nodded in confirmation, pleased with her bullshit explanation. If I were introduced as anything other than boyfri . . .

Finish that thought, idiot. My brain pointed a gun at my temple from the inside. I fucking dare you.

“Nice tie. Is that from Brioni’s newest collection?” I jutted my chin in its direction, dead-ass serious. He wore a PAW Patrol tie. Specifically, with Chase on it, wearing his firefighter helmet. I only knew the dog’s name because Booger Face used to call me Doggy Chase for a while, and I’d been worried and disturbed about her knowing my favorite sexual position.

Also, why weren’t we talking about the fact he wore tights?

“Brioni?” he echoed, still running in place. “Is that a designer brand?”

“Close. An Italian dish,” I deadpanned.

I felt like an asshole. No doubt I looked like one too. And for the first time in a very long time, it felt like crossing an invisible line. I’d always been sarcastic and brash, but never completely off-the-rails rude. In Ethan’s case, I couldn’t stop myself. I imagined him pressing his tights-clad crotch (seriously, were we just going to ignore the tights?) against Madison’s soft curves and kissing her, and frankly, that made me want to drink myself to death, smash the bottle of whiskey on a brick, and stab him with it.

“Chase!” Madison stomped her high heel, which, for the record, I wasn’t opposed to removing with my teeth later tonight. My cock was stirring uncomfortably in my briefs every time I caught a waft of her perfume. Pumpkin pie, coconut, and Daisy’s smell. She smelled like home. A home I categorically wasn’t invited to, but a home nonetheless. Ethan jutted his chin out at me, a glint of wildness in his eyes. It was a carnal spark that told me he knew Madison was a catch, and he wasn’t backing down.

All yours, Pedi Boy.

“I admit I’m not very knowledgeable when it comes to clothing. I’m hoping Maddie here helps me out.” He flashed her a smile and a wink. I ran my eyes along his body, assessing him.

“Sucks for you. The pot and the kettle going shopping. No retinas will be safe.”

I was now insulting both of them. Very bad form, considering she was about to help me. But they seemed wrong together, and she was so oblivious to it I couldn’t stop myself.

Mad rolled her eyes. “See what I mean about you not ever having to worry about him? He’s insufferable. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ethan.” She leaned forward, touching his chest as she kissed his cheek. Her lips lingered on his skin a moment too long, and my hands curled into fists, itching to grab her waist and physically remove her from him. “Good luck with the marathon.”

“Half marathon,” he corrected, hugging her tight.

Don’t look at his tights. If he has an erection, you might have to kill him, and your lawyer is in the Maldives on vacation.

When Mad and I stepped out of her building, my pulse returned to its regular rhythm.

“Do you smell that?” She sniffed the air theatrically.

“Smell what?”

“The urine from the pissing contest you just launched at my doorstep.”

I laughed. The 2.0 version of her was considerably more fun to hang out with, despite the constant headache she gave me. I said the thing I thought would rile her up the most, because seeing her cheeks turn pink was one of my favorite pastimes.