“I think I’ve been misinformed.” I laughed. “How do you eat an ice cream cone, then?”
“With a spoon, of course. Like any civilized person.”
I shut my gaping mouth. “And here I was, worried you wouldn’t fit in tonight.”
Michelle eyed the furry dummy in my arms. “Why are you hugging a werewolf?”
“It’s a prop,” I said, trying to maneuver Wolfie into a somewhat cool position. “And I have to get him inside.”
She swept her arm toward the house. “Lead the way.”
“Right. Just… you know, lower your expectations.”
“Oh, trust me. They’re low.”
“If you think the outside’s bad… wait until you get a whiff of the inside.”
“You know, Scott,” she said with a smile, “you’re not exactly selling your concert.”
“You’re here, aren’t you? If I didn’t sell it, then why’d you ditch Prince and drive out to the slums?” I paused, staring herdown. “I think you’re tired of safe. You want the kind of night you have to lie about later.”
Michelle blinked, like my dare was working its way past her defenses and waking up a part of her she usually kept under lock and key. Her gaze drifted toward the house and something subtle shifted. Her shoulders squared. Her feet planted. And when her eyes returned to mine, I could see the echoes of rebellion in them.
“Give me your vest.”
“My vest?” I clutched the denim. “I’m performing in it.”
“Not anymore,” she said, then hiked her dress straight over her head.
My jaw hit the crumbling pavement. Not just because the girl who ate ice cream with a spoon was casually undressing under a streetlight, but because of what she had beneath—a white silk slip that skimmed just above her knees. And yeah, her nipples weren’t exactly hiding their opinion on the chill of the night air. Every one of the rich-girl fantasies I didn’t know I had was suddenly coming alive.
“I’m either walking in there like this, or I’m walking in there with your vest,” she said. “Your choice.”
“I vote for the nipple slip.”
She arched her brows. “So would Rat and the rest of the felons.”
Fair point. I couldn’t exactly guard her all night, and that slip wasn’t built for condemned houses. With a groan, I peeled off my lucky vest and handed it over. She slid it on like it belonged to her, then unpinned her hair. Glossy brown curls spilled down her back in a slow-motion freefall, and just like that, sweet Sandy morphed into full-blown Greased Lightning. Hot. Fucking. Damn. My life had just become a movie.
“And so I don’t have to worry about a jewelry heist tonight…” Michelle unclasped her necklace, removed her studs, slid off her bracelet, and held out the glittering pile in her palm. “Here.”
I lifted my hands like she was offering me a live grenade. “Oh, no. I’m not going to be responsible for that.”
“Well, I can’t exactly leave thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry in the Benz. It’s a convertible.”
“Oh, Michelle. If only you could hear how that sounds coming out of your mouth.”
Her eyes widened, then she cracked up. “I sound like a spoiled brat, don’t I?”
I grinned, with no malice in it. Truth was, I liked her clueless aristocracy. She wasn’t fake. She wasn’t trying to impress. She was just her polished, privileged, and absolutely unprepared for this world self. But she’d still shown up. And that did it for me.
Michelle flipped open my vest and, with the skill of a professional shopper, found a hidden pocket I hadn’t even known existed. She tucked her jewels inside.
“Better?” she asked.
I nodded, resisting the urge to applaud. She was the most unexpected thing to happen to me in a long time, but I stayed cool. Because tonight, I was Michelle’s one-night rebellion. And I did not intend to disappoint.
“You dirty up nicely,” I said, escorting her over the dry, patchy lawn.
