I look up as she reappears, cradling a mug and side-eyeing me like she regrets every life decision she’s ever made leading up to this very moment.
She looks delicious.
I shoot her a grin. “You should wear something that would make your ex cry,” I say.
She blinks slowly before her eyes widen. “What?”
“For tonight. We’re going out. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing itright.”
A look of panic flashes across her face for about half a second before her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Tell me what you mean exactly byout.”
I stand, stretching like a cat who ate the canary, and stalk over to her.
“We’re going to a bar,” I answer. “A very public, loud, rowdy bar full of people who’ll see you glowing like the goddess you are. No one will be able to take their eyes off of you. I guarantee it.”
“Goddess?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “That’s a stretch.”
I lean in, brushing past her shoulder, letting my breath graze the shell of her ear. “Oh, kitten. You have no ideahowgod damnedgorgeous you really are, do you?”
She sucks in a breath and stills.
Good.
Because this story? This story is about to getreallyinteresting.
Ifyou ever want to truly get under a woman’s skin—you know, dig down to her nerves and start building a summer home there? Just start tossing her clothes over your shoulder while you stand in her walk-in closet half-naked.
Trust me. Works like a charm.
“No. Nope. What evenisthis? A wool onesie?” I mutter to myself, flinging another piece of clothing over my shoulder onto the growing pile on the floor behind me.
“Ryder!”
“I told you we’re going out. Think of it like a specialoccasion. If you’re going to make your public debut as my girlfriend, you gotta wear something that makes men choke on their drinks and rethink all their fucked up life choices.”
“I swear to god, if you stretch out my crop top?—”
Stretching the garment taut between my hands, I raise a brow and smirk. “This tiny thing? Kitten, I could fucking floss with it and it wouldn’t lose its shape.”
She muffles her scream into a pillow before chucking at my head.
It bounces off my back, landing next to the heap of shirts, skirts, and what I’m pretty sure is an angry pair of shiny faux leather pants.
I glance over my shoulder, and yep, there it is. That flustered thing she does where she crosses her arms, face flushed as she tries to decide whether she wants to throttle me to death or let me throw her on the bed and throttle her—with my cock.
My way would be much more fun.
She hasn’t made up her mind yet. But I’m hoping for option B.
“You are a walking disaster, Ryder.”
“Pot. Kettle, kitten,” I wink before turning back to the closet, a man on a mission.
“I said I’ve got it,” she snaps, swatting at my hand as I reach for a hanger.
“You clearlydon’t,” I say, tossing a wrinkled cardigan over my shoulder. “This is a fashion emergency, and I refuse to be seen in public with a woman wearing sad librarian beige.”
“That’scashmere,you dick.”
