"An automatically adjusting-- seriously?" Harlow immediately pictured some sort of mechanical apparatus involved, though he had a feeling that wasn't really the case. "Well that shit sounds smarter than me. And yeah, she got all the hots and none of the brains. Just none. She's lucky I didn't stab her the first time I met her, with the fucking cunt attitude she copped with me. She's fucking lucky I realized she was too stupid to understand my sense of humor before I slit her throat."
"Oh, Jesus shitting Christ," Harlow winced, pressing a hand to the side of his head and looking pained. "Why the fuck are you marrying him? You want to sign off on getting vanity-fucked for the rest of your life? Tell him to fucking jerk off on a mirror and move on. Do you even like him? What are you doing?"
Harlow noticed how different Adelaide's reaction was the moment that Cutter's dick was mentioned instead of her fiance's, and he added that to the already insurmountable pile of evidence he had to back up his opinion about them. He cackled when she pulled him forward, his sharp eyes noticing everything-- even the fact that she wasn't entirely joking when she sounded so forlorn about the fact that such a text would scare her Big Bear away. He was of the opinion that she was likely wrong about that, but he hadn't spent enough time around Cutter to be sure of it. He touched his shot glass to hers for the toast, grinning widely. "Mmm, whatever you say, honeygirl," he purred, before knocking back the shot with her. He refilled the glasses, merciless in his attempts to intoxicate her. "Now this one," he declared, lifting up the glass once more. "This one's to you. You flawless bitch. This one's to me being in love with you. You're the only person I've spoken to in this shithole who makes sense. I'm going to elope with your dimple. Drink to that, hooker."