Page 50 of Wild and Bright

My stomach flutters at the menace in his tone. I repress the smile tugging at my lips. “It does. Henderson, Shmenderson.”

“And you also told Isaac’s brother that you take videos of yourself putting on makeup and post them on YouTube. In the two minutes I went to piss, you said both of those things.”

“Yes, but when he asked me if I’m an influencer, I said no.” I smile lazily. “I got you, honey.”

His jaw goes rigid. “Can I ask you something?”

I fight laughter at his obvious distress. Sucking my lips inside my mouth, I nod.

“Are you six fucking years old?”

The ache at the pit of my belly has turned to fire. I love taunting him.

And he doesn’t even know what he’s in for yet.

I smile sweetly as I lift my hand to the lapels of my peacoat. For greater effect, I remove the coat slowly, enjoying the spread of emotions over his face—shifting from confusion to surprise to terror—as he takes in what I’m wearing underneath. His wide eyes fixed on my chest, he nearly shouts, “What the hell is that?”

“A dress.”

His gaze darts from my nearly exposed tits to the lace at my hips and back to my tits. “That is not a dress. That’s fucking lingerie.” His tone is frantic, and it sends heat into my groin.

“No, it’s cocktail dress.”

Finally seeming to compose himself, his jaw hardens. “You are not wearing that. Go in the bathroom and change back into that grandma sweater.”

“I don’t want to look like a grandma tonight.”

He takes a step toward me until my tits are an inch from his chest. He lowers his chin to stare down at me. “And I don’t want you looking like that. Go back into that bathroom and change, or I swear to God, I’ll drag you out of here. After I cover you with that coat.”

I raise challenging brows. “Honey, this isn’t really fair. So far, I’ve technically followed all of your rules. You never said anything about what I’m allowed to wear, and to be honest, it sounds a lot like you’re slut-shaming me for wanting to show off my body.”

I want to howl in victory when his mouth snaps shut. He doesn’t like the idea of slut-shaming me.

Especially given our history.

He stares at me for a full five seconds—his eyes roaming my body frantically—as if in indecision. Suddenly, his gaze snaps up. “We’re staying for thirty more minutes, got it? And during that time, you’re not leaving my sight.”

When my mouth opens to protest, he lifts a hand to silence me. “That’s your job. You agreed to it. You agreed to stay by my side at parties.”

When I finally nod, he looks like he’s ready to turn around and walk back into the bar, but then he hesitates, and his stern expression softens.

“What?”

“Please change.” The words are soft.

I smile sadly. “No.”

“You…” He shuts his eyes. “You’re a fucking asshole, Lauren.”

I lift my hand and place it softly on his cheek. “I know.”

Even in his frustration, he leans into my hand. The sweet sight of it sends a pang of guilt into my chest.

Camden

She stands with her back to the bar, her eyes wide as she talks to a group of people, and even as I want to wince every time a small movement reveals yet more of her barely covered skin, I can’t help but feel this eerie calm.

How is it possible to feel two contradictory emotions at once? Teeth-grinding irritation and cool, quiet peace. It’s always been this way with her.

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