She was already digging in her tote bag, and when her hand came out, it was holding the ugliest, dustiest cowboy hat I’d ever seen.
And also…why had she been carrying that around in the first place?
At midnight.
To my house.
What was happening right now?
“You’ll look perfect in this.”
“Darla…”
“Shirt off,” she said cheerfully, like we hadn’t just crossed five lines of sanity. “Don’t be shy. You’ve got the muscles for it.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Jace is going to die because you’re trying to turn me into some kind of…playgirl rodeo clown.”
“Briefs,” she said as if she hadn’t heard me. “Black ones. You know the pair.”
My brain short-circuited.
“What the—How do you even—” I blinked at her, my words tripping over one another. “Are you tracking my laundry now? Do you have, like, a camera in my drawer? Because if so, I swear to?—”
Darla just grinned like she’d won something.
I stepped back, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Absolutely not.”
“Then I guess Jace is on his own.” She turned the cowboy hat slowly in her hands, like she was auditioning it for a Western.
I stared at her. Stared at my useless phone. Stared at the clock.
Then I swore under my breath and stomped toward my room.
Ten minutes later, I was standing in the living room in nothing but my black briefs and the fucking cowboy hat.
“This is a violation of human rights,” I muttered.
“Shh.” Darla crouched low, holding her phone like she was Annie Leibovitz and not just some patchouli-scented menace in clashing prints. “Tilt your chin up a little. Think…desire. Think passion.”
“IthinkI’m going to be sick.”
She snapped three pictures. “Perfect. Now put one foot on the couch cushion. Power pose.”
“Power pose? This isn’t theTheLion King, Darla.”
“Confidence!” she barked. “Hand on your hip. No—your other hip. Yes! That’s the one.”
I slapped a hand to my hip, glaring at the ceiling like it might cave in and crush me. “If anyone ever sees these?—”
“It’s for my private collection,” Darla said dreamily, snapping more shots. “I’d never show anyone. Oh! Give me a smolder. Think…seductive cowboy.”
“I don’t do smolders!”
“You do now.”
She snapped another burst of photos, then gasped. “The briefs. Pull the waistband down just a tiny bit.”
My eyes bulged. “Absolutely not.”
