“That’s hot.”
“Hot yes, ideal—no. It was the only decent underwear I owned, so while a part of me is hoping they decide to come find me for a repeat of the most amazing sex of my life, the other part of me knows it will be while wearing this.” I tug up my top, my off-white simple cotton bra falling apart at the seams, the poor construction job on the barely attached strap obvious with the orange thread.
“Look under the sofa.”
“Why?”
“Enough of the sceptical. Has anyone ever told you that you’re very untrusting?”
I don’t tell her I’m that way because I’ve had more than enough people turn around and stab me in the back, because that would just open the floor up for morequestions, and she doesn’t need to know the ins and outs of my fucked-up family history. Slipping down, my hair pooling on the floor, I glance under the sofa and pull out a sleek black box with a red ribbon, sitting up and holding it in my lap.
“Dear lord woman. Open it,” Megan urges as she adjusts herself, tucking her legs up behind her as her eyes glitter with excitement.
“WOW!”
“I knew you’d love it.” She squeals excitedly as I run my fingers gently over the stunning black lace underwear set artfully arranged between sheets of black tissue paper. The ribbon hatch design of the bodice reminds me of the ropes Cooper had tied around my body, and I shudder as my belly flips.
“Thank you,” I say softly, emotion making me stumble. I’ve never had anyone like Megan in my life. Someone so openly accepting of me, even though in the world outside of these walls, we are two very different people from very different lives. I like the version of myself that I am when she’s here with me.
“That’s not all.”
“Megan,” I scold teasingly, for the little time I’ve known this woman, I’ve become accustomed with that cheeky glint in her eyes. Whatever comes next probably isn’t the best idea.
“You know the date I mentioned,” She’s being coy, this definitely isn’t a good idea.
“yes,” I say with an arched brow.
“Brandon asked Mateo what your dating status was. If you’re game, we’re going to set you up a double date. Iknow you have your twin hotties, but there’s no harm in exploring your options. And he’s actually really sweet, asked your favourite flower and everything.”
I don’t shut her down like my brain is telling me to, that little voice in my head strongly siding with team Knox and another round of rope bunny play. But I need to accept the fact that maybe last night will forever be just one perfect night. Our version of a goodbye. Or seeing me on the arm of someone else will send them into a jealous rage, and they won’t be able to help themselves by staking their claim of me.
I’m really hoping for option B.
A part of me wonders whether they regretted last night, but I don’t let the thought linger. I still hadn’t told them why I did what I did, and being roughly fucked by the twins while mind-blowing, didn’t help to air our grievances. They marked me, fucked me, and claimed me—yet here I am, sitting on my sofa at two in the afternoon with wine and holding expensive underwear with no one to enjoy it with me.
Megan’s phone chimes in her handbag, and she stretches across me to pull it out, swiping at the screen to load the message.
“I’ve got to go and catch up with Mateo. So, you up for date night?” she presses, slipping into a pair of ballet flats from under the coffee table.
“Okay,” I reply, wholly unsure of my decision as the image of the guys’ scowling faces fills my head.
She leans in for a hug, and I let myself get lost in her comfort. I have never been a hugger before Megan, but I have to admit, I like this with her.
I hold up the lingerie as the front door clicks closed, admiring the design. I can still hear Megan chatting animatedly to Mateo through the phone as she heads down the hallway to the lift.
“I hope you’re ready for me, Brandon,” I say to the empty room, downing the last mouthful of my drink. “You’ve got a lot to live up to.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EBONY
Ileave the underwear in the box on the dining room table. Stretching and retying my messy bun as I head back down the hallway to my room for a shower, hoping that might help soothe my fuzzy head. An afternoon drinking session always fucks up my day, and if I give in and have a nap, I know it will be matching muddy green gazes that fill my dreams. I don’t want that right now. Pushing through my door, I jump back at the sight of two broad tattooed enforcers as they stand in the middle of the room with glaring expressions, their arms crossed over their chests.
“You are not going on any fucking date with some nobody friend of Mateo Trent,” Cooper states emphatically as he removes his wide-brimmed hat and pushes back his hair. “Fucking Brandon,” he adds in astonishment as though the name alone is giving him heartburn.
“I can and I will if I want to. You can’t stop me,” I snap back defiantly even though I have no desire to dateor even be around Brandon Mitchell; it took me all of three seconds after Megan left for me to come to my senses. I would sooner sew myself up and become a nun, than be around Brandon and his menagerie of jersey chasers—the girls more enamoured with the player than the sport. He will never be a candidate for suitable dating material.
“I beg to differ, sweetheart; we can have you tied up and secured to that light fixture in a matter of minutes if you want to keep this shit up.”
