“No,” I growl. “But you can get us some drinks. Gin. And whiskey.”
“Jesus Christ,” he groans when she’s gone. “Turning down easy p***y? You’re already whipped. This is gonna change everything.”
“It changes nothing,” I retort. “Kinsley is the mother of my child. That’s all.”
“And you don’t want to make her anything more? Like, oh, let’s say… your wife?”
I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s a fair question. You’ve already seen her in a wedding dress. Maybe you liked what you saw.”
“You’re very close to getting punched in the face, my friend.”
“Have you thought about it?” he persists.
“Punching you in the face? Every f*****g day of my life.”
“Have you thought about marriage, I’m asking.”
“Jesus Christ. You’re a child.”
“Exactly!” Petro crows. “Why do you need another one?” I turn
