Chapter 3

Miles

I didn't quite understand why everyone was looking at me like I had paint on my face. Was I really that late? The table had already been cleared, but thankfully, I wasn't hungry. I shrugged off my coat and handed it to Chris.

"Hi, everyone," I mumbled as I took my seat. "Annyeonghaseyo, appa," I greeted my father.

I was born and raised here, but my dad insisted I learn Korean-so did my mom whenever I was with her. My eyes scanned the dining room, searching for any other females, other than the middle-aged woman with dark hair glaring at me and the blonde girl who was practically drooling over me.

Then, my gaze fell on the soft, quiet creature sitting across from me.

She couldn't meet my eyes, her gaze focused on her hands. I didn't understand why my dad was so obsessed with having me marry someone of Korean descent, but at least it wasn't the drooling blonde.

I stretched my hand across the table, gently taking hers. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Cheryl," she replied shyly, not lifting her head.

"Do you speak Korean?" I had to confirm before saying what I was about to say.

She nodded.

"Wae igeol dong-uihaesseo?" I asked. (Why did you agree to this?)

"Seontaegi eopseosseo," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. (I didn't have a choice.)

I sighed. What had I expected? They must've pressured her into this.

"Nareul museowohaji ma, naega dowajulge," I said softly, just before my dad smacked my arm. (Don't be afraid of me, I'm here to help you out.)

"Cut it out!" my dad growled, clearly annoyed.

"Waeee," I whined, pulling my hand away from hers. (Why?)

I was so done with all the bullshit.

The wedding was in a few weeks, right? Great. Now I needed to leave.

"Nega wonhaneun daero haesseo," I slapped my dad's shoulder,

standing up. (I have done what you wanted.) "See you all at the wedding," I waved dismissively, striding out of the room.

I don't know why I was here. A bar should be the last place an irritated man like me finds himself.

"So, you're really going to marry her? Honestly, I'm happy for you. Everyone wants to be you, so why are you mad?" Gavin asked, swirling his drink lazily.

I downed the last bitter drop of whiskey, wincing as it burned my throat. "I don't know why I thought talking to you about this would help. My mistake."

"Fair," Gavin replied with a shrug, clearly unbothered.

Harry, ever the quiet observer, finally spoke. "I agree with you, though. How is that much of an age gap even legal?"

"Thank you!" I threw my hands up, not because I needed his approval, but because someone finally understood the absurdity of it.

"When did you start caring what people think?" Gavin scoffed, shaking his head.

"This isn't about what anyone thinks!" I snapped, rubbing my temples. "It's about what I think."

I glanced at Harry, who was nodding along quietly. Of course, he got it-he had an eighteen-year-old daughter. I didn't need to say it outright, but I could see it in his eyes: he'd never want her marrying a guy our age.

"Imagine you had a nineteen-year-old daughter," Isaac said, cutting through my thoughts.

"Would you want her to marry someone like us?"

"Her parents clearly don't fucking care," Gavin muttered, rolling his eyes.

The sour expressions on all our faces said it all. Gavin just didn't get it.

Enough with the bride talk," he said, waving at the bartender. "We need a stripper. Call one over."

I sighed, already bracing myself for the jabs to come. "I'm good," I said, waving off the offer.

Gavin's jaw dropped in mock disbelief. "Is Miles Han rejecting the hoes? The world must be ending." He leaned closer, scanning my face like he was trying to diagnose me.

"It's very unlike you," Isaac chimed in, narrowing his eyes.

"And it's very unlike you," I shot back, "to sit here and let some girl grind on you when you're engaged to the daughter of a Mafia boss."

Isaac flinched, his smirk fading. "My father-in-law is not a Mafia boss," he whined, but he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

Whatever. Mafia boss or not, her family was dangerous. I didn't understand why he agreed to marry into that mess, but if she ever caught him here with us, he'd be dead.

Harry, as always, stayed quiet. Married for over ten years, he was loyal to his wife and family. He came here to drink moderately and talk, never to indulge in the mess the rest of us lived in. Honestly, I respected him for it.

"You good, though?" Harry finally asked, his voice low and steady.

I hesitated. It was unlike me to turn down a stripper. But lately, nothing seemed to interest me-not booze, not women, not anything.

"No," I admitted, slumping against the bar. "I'm not fine. I can't even get it up anymore. No erections, no interest Nothing."

"Oh, I see. You're in a sexual slump," Gavin declared, nodding like he'd solved a great mystery.

"This isn't a slump in academics, you idiot," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"You need a girl to shake you out of it," Isaac added, unhelpfully.

I didn't bother responding. I tried. Different girls, different places, nothing worked.

"It's normal," Harry said gently. "Sometimes you just need a break. Or maybe you need to try something...different."

"Something different like men?" Gavin teased, breaking into loud, obnoxious laughter.

I groaned and slumped further into my seat, tuning out their jokes. How did I end up surrounded by these guys?