Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Lexi and my sisters are there, too. North stands out the way I do. The way Deanna does. She’s too cool for a place like this, and it shows in her stylish mix of high-top sneakers and a dress from an independent designer. Fern fits in better. She’s in a black dress and heels. A normal “going out” outfit.
And, of course, Lexi is in a soft shade of pink, blonde hair in long waves, makeup soft and feminine.
She’s beautiful. As beautiful as she always is. And she’s bright, too.
But I don’t want her light right now.
I want Deanna.
It feels real. More real than anything.
But it’s happening so fast. It’s hard to trust.
I hear her laugh from across the room. Or maybe I feel it in the air. The magenta fabric. The long line of her back. The curve on her lips.
I want that laugh. The smile. All of it.
Jealousy fills my veins. It’s rare I care enough to feel jealous. Right now, I want to deck the guy flirting with her. It’s not a strong enough urge to overpower me, but it’s there, and it’s new and strange.
There’s a reason I’ve never felt this before, but I lose interest in the logic the second his hand goes to her lower back.
No.
I want to be the one touching her.
Now.
The guy moves closer, close enough to whisper.
She tenses as his hand dips.
I want to say I move because she’s uncomfortable, and it’s true. But I also move because I don’t like him touching her.
I cut through the space as casually as I can. I’m not afraid of a fight, but I’m not eager to court one, and I’d rather stay out of sight of my sisters.
I cut between a group of chatting friends and come to Deanna and the guy.
She looks up at me with surprise in her eyes.
I copy her MO—something smart and strategic—and mix it with mine—something fun and surprising. “Baby, how could you.” I wrap my fingers around her wrist and pull her toward me. “With him?”
The guy looks at the two of us with confusion in his eyes.
“I specifically said a redhead,” I say.
“A redhead?” she asks, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head.
“Yes, baby. I only had two rules. Any guy you want, as long as he’s a redhead and as long as I can watch,” I say.
She meets my gaze and raises a brow.
I mouth, “You trust me?”
She nods and looks to the guy. “He’s got freckles.”
“Freckles?” I scoff. “You think freckles are enough?”
“Isn’t that your thing?” She feigns a look of confusion, as if she can’t believe I’m not satisfied by someone who freckles instead of tans.
“No. Of course not.” I turn to the guy. “It’s not personal.”
He stares at me in horror, struggling to catch up. Then he does and his light eyes go wide.
Deanna continues the game. “Make an exception. Please.”
“It’s only two rules,” I say. “I know you love rules.”
She struggles to hold in her laugh. “What if we get a wig? Will that work?” She turns to the guy. “What do you think? Are you open to that?”
“No way!” I answer before he can. “The curtains have to match the drapes.”
“You know? I’ve got an early morning and I have to get out of here.” He practically runs through the crowd to get away from us.
Deanna bursts into a fit of laughter.
I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer.
She sinks into me, her chest against my chest, her head in the crook of my neck, her joy filling every inch of my body.
She feels good. This feels good.
Nothing else matters. Only this.
“The curtains have to match the drapes.” She wraps her arm around my neck. “You really said that.”
“You don’t know about my kink?” I ask.
“That’s why you couldn’t make things work with Alice,” she says. “But not good for me.” She pulls back and motions to her dark hair.
It’s messy. I never see it messy.
There’s something unbearably sexy about it.
I bring my lips to her ear. “Do you want to get out of here before the peanut gallery notices us?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
…
“Do you trust me?” Deanna asks as she slides into the passenger seat of my rental car.
“Why?” I start the engine.
She buckles her seat belt and reaches for me. For my thigh. “Your phone.” She laughs. “Unlock it for me.”
“Are you going to check my texts?”
“Your folder of nudes.”
“I can send those to you.”
Her smile is wicked. “The music. You’re streaming it.”
I pull my cell from my pocket and use Face ID to unlock it.
Her hand brushes mine as she takes it. She taps the screen a few times and a sultry jazz song fills the car. Something familiar. An old standard that fits Deanna like a glove.
“This isn’t real jazz,” she says. “Real jazz skips around. It requires focus. Or it steals it. I can’t listen to it in the background. My brain keeps going back to the music, trying to find the pattern. But this kind of thing—a jazz-inspired slow jam—it gives the same feel without taking all the attention.” She leans into the back seat with a sigh of pleasure. “And it’s still sexy.”