Page 94 of Prey Tell
THE DRESS
Juliet
Since the week is short, it goes by quickly. It doesn’t hurt that Chase checks in with me every day—enough to remind me that he’s thinking about me but not enough to satiate the intimacy that I’m craving now that I’ve had a taste.Thank God for Wolverine.Still, the week is impossibly busy catching up on my dissertation and my classes. I don’t sit down except to sleep, and by the time Thursday afternoon rolls around, I am more than happy to unwind with some pizza and beer, courtesy of Jackson.
That is, until a mysterious delivery appears, and I have to hide my embarrassment as the delivery driver hands me a bouquet of black roses and a large black box with a black velvet bow. I stumble back inside as Jackson’s eyes widen.
“Oooh, the plot thickens,” he says, giving me a wry grin. “And who’s the lucky man? Or is it men? Why choose when you can have them all?”
“Shut up,” I grit out, walking quickly to my bedroom.
Closing the door behind me and trying to quell my pounding heart, I place the roses on my dresser and walk over to the box. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, I gasp when I see what’s inside. A midnight-blue velvet dress—vintage, by the looks of it—and stunning. I lift it out delicately and hold it up to myself in the mirror. Just as I scan the vintage label—Victor Edelstein—Jackson raps against my door. I quickly fold the dress and place the lid back on before opening the door and ushering him away from the incriminating items.
I sit and continue eating my pizza, looking anywhere but my brother’s eager face. Finally, after finishing my beer, I sigh and resign myself to giving him a half-truth. I’m going to need to tell him something now that Chase is being positively blatant about things.
“Fine. I’m seeing someone. I’m not ready to talk about it because I don’t know whatitentails, but yeah. Can we move on now?”
Jackson snorts as he texts on his phone. “I won’t stop until I know, but sure. I’ll stop for tonight.”
“What about you?” I ask casually, watching as Jackson’s cheeks redden. “Any hot dates lately?”
“Yeah, actually.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I clear my throat. “So? Spill the beans.”
Jackson wipes his palms on his jeans and leans forward. “I should go. But maybe we can have dinner on Saturday? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
I hide my smile as I nod. “Of course. I’ll clear my busy social calendar.”
He narrows his eyes as he stands, stretching as he yawns. “Hopefully you can squeeze me in,” he jokes, wincing as his hips crack. “I swear, every year I teach gets harder and harder. I’m sore in places I never knew existed.”
I laugh. “I told you those kids would kill you one day.”
He cleans up—and by cleans up, he shoves the empty pizza boxes into my tiny recycling receptacle—and then walks to the front door.
“Whoever he is, I hope he makes you happy,” Jackson says, opening the door as he pulls on a blue cardigan. “Truly.”
My throat constricts. “He does.” Just as Jackson walks across the threshold, I turn to watch him go. “Same with you. Whoever they are.” His wide eyes meet mine from the darkness of the porch, but then he nods once and closes the door behind him.
He’ll tell me soon. And if he doesn’t, that’s fine too.
* * *
By the time six o’clock rolls around the next day, I am a wreck. The dress is tight—almost too tight—but I’m able to get it on. I need Chase to help me zip it up. It’s stunning—and familiar—but I can’t put my finger on why. I decide to do very light makeup, and though I didn’t notice before, inside the box were vintage Prada stilettos. They’re tall, but not enough to break my neck. I have my hair up in a low chignon, accentuating the way the dress sits off my shoulders and hugs my body like a glove before fanning out at my knees. Just as I grab my black clutch, there’s a knock at my door, and I pull it open to see Chase in a matching, midnight-blue suit.
“We match,” I say nervously, pointing between us.
What an idiotic thing to say.
Chase’s eyes darken as he reaches forward and tugs me into his body. “Not quite. I don’t look anywhere as spectacular as you do, Parker.”
And then he kisses me—slow and sensual at first, but then more urgent, more demanding as it progresses. I feel him reach back and zip up my dress. I hadn’t asked him to—he just knew.
“We should go,” I murmur against his lips, pressing against his chest.
“I haven’t seen you in days, and yet I can’t get the smell of your cunt out of my mind. I’m starting to go crazy.”
“How much time do we have?” I ask, panting.
