Page 137 of Pretty Little Lies

“Say you’re mine now,” I heave out through depleted pants. “I want to know it when we leave this room that I can touch you when I want.”

“As long as I get to touch you?—”

“You can do whatever you want to me. I just want the word.”

Her lips curl into a wide, shit-eating grin. “Mine.”

THIRTY-NINE

cairo

Vivian’s armpossessively links to mine as she chats aimlessly with her friends. The not so funny part of tonight was that she wasn’t invited to this surprise shindig. I know Torin and Reeve didn’t bother passing the details over to her.

So, how she’s here…

I got a few suspicions, but none have been confirmed because we haven’t had a moment alone and I’m grateful for that.

What I’mnotso appreciative of is Bay Astor walking through my house with Reeve at her side. My attention immediately soaks in her dark hair flowing freely down her back to the black crop top and matching ripped jeans that hug her hips and perfect ass.

Her hand lands on Reeve’s bicep with a smile as he leans in to whisper something in her ear, standing there a little too long for it to be shoved away as friendly.

No, those two like each other.

Reeve does, I know that for a fucking fact, and if Bay doesn’t return the feeling, she sure as hell does a good job of acting like it.

Unlike Vivian, her movements aren’t calculated and basic. Bay’s laugh looks genuine, even though I can’t hear it over themusic sounding through the kitchen. She doesn’t stand super close to Reeve when they’re done talking, giving him space while she drinks from a red Solo cup and he continues to speak.

But you can’t help but notice the way she watches him with interest with every word that comes out of his mouth.

I mean, Reeve isn’t that fucking interesting, fuck.

However, Bay’s blues look at him like he’s the only dude in the room. I know what I said before. She needs a friend, someone to steer her away from the depths of Vivian’s cunt-filled attitude or Matteo’s drowning attempts, but I’m double-guessing all that shit now.

Especially when she’s sinking her claws deeper into my best friend.

“Cairo, what do you think?” Vivian yanks on my arm, but it’s a subtle, sweet warning to pay the fuck attention before she bitches at me about it later.

“About what?” I sigh as three of her equally blonde friends look at me with sheer interest at whatever the fuck my answer is.

“White horses,” my fiancée says. “You can come in on?—”

“No,” I deadpan. I wouldn’t be caughtdeadon a fucking horse for fun, or pure enjoyment.

“But it’d be so magical.”

White horses for fucking what?

I look down at Vivian, her brown eyes already locked in on me with natural excitement. “What are you talking about now?”

“Our wedding.”

Geezus motherfucking Christ.

“What wedding?” I press, watching her cheeks blanch in embarrassment before she lifts her chin and smiles at her friends.

“Stop teasing me,” she scolds lightly before digging her fingernails into my arm.

“The only joke is the fact that you’re not wearing an engagement ring.”

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