"Who the fuck—?" Oliver grits out before he takes off his seatbelt and goes out. I follow him out and I'm met with Cyrus fucking Grayson leaning against his bike in the middle of the road.
And surprisingly, I'm relieved.
He didn't leave me after all. He gives me a once-over with a little tilt of his head before paying attention to Oliver—who is livid.
"Hey dude! Why the fuck are you blocking the road? Couldn't you have parked your little bike by the side of the road? People have to drive here, you know." Was he always this rude, or is it just me?
Who am I kidding? He was. I just ignored it. He was rude when he spoke down to the waiters. He was insufferable when he didn't have room service within 10 seconds. And he had a habit of throwing money in the faces of delivery drivers when they were a minute late.
Gosh, listening to his voice alone is infuriating enough.
Cyrus merely raises his brow and points a finger at himself.
"Are you talking to me?"
