“Speaking of hives, I talked to Mom, and—”
I loved my sister more than life itself, but whatever story she was about to tell me about our mother and beehives was lost on me the second Nessa stepped out of the house wearing that blue dress.
I would never look at the color the same way ever again.
Holy. Fuck.
The dress was both elegant and sexy, molded to every delectable curve and swell of her body like it had been painted on.Oh, what a canvas she would make.Her generous breasts spilled over the heart-shaped neckline, barely held up by a jeweled spaghetti strap on either shoulder.
The slit in her skirt was the real showstopper.
Her entire left leg was exposed, from the toe of her silver heel to the—fuck me sideways—black-and-silver garter holding up her stocking. It was going to take every ounce of willpower tomake it through this evening without sliding my hand up that slit and reaching for heaven between her thighs.
“Are you even listening?” Bella asked.
“Not even a little bit.” My eyes never wavered from Nessa. “Gotta go, Belles. I’ve got a hot date.”
I hung up before she could protest.
“A hot date, huh?” Nessa asked. Her apricot, glossy lips called out to me, begging for a kiss.
“The hottest.” She blushed under my gaze. “You’re stunning.”
“Thank you. You don’t look too shabby yourself, baseball boy.”
“Shall we?”
I opened the limo door for her. When she placed her hand in mine, it was like an electrical shock straight to my dick—the good kind. This was going to be a long night.
“I have to know,” I said, just as she ducked her head inside the car. “Are you still wearing them?”
She smiled coyly. “Wearing what?”
“Angel, you know what.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Yes, I fucking would.”
To nobody’s surprise, the benefit was a massive success. Between the event staff’s efforts and the masterful social media push helmed by Clarke and Dani, the event had sold out within twenty-four hours.
For three hours, we had wined, dined—on something delicious, though suspiciously green—and danced the night away with sports fans from across the Pacific Northwest, allof whom were invested in both celebrating our successful first season and raising money for charity.
Personally, I could have done with a few less photo opportunities, but if that was what it took to buy the kids new sporting equipment, I’d rub Vaseline on my teeth and pose until midnight. So long as my feet could last that long—these shoes were killing me.
“The answer is no.”
We had been trying—and failing miserably—to talk Diaz into doing the Buns of Steel bachelor auction for nearly half an hour. He still wasn’t convinced.
“C’mon, man,” I pressed. “Everybody’s doing it.”
“Even me,” Soren added.
“Only because Clarke made you,” I teased.
“Don’t let the Southern belle act fool you. She’s an excellent negotiator.” His meaning was clearer than the crystal Champagne flutes.
I followed his gaze across the room, toward the trio of women on the opposite end of the ballroom.
