Page 19 of What We Don't Say: Part One

“It’s... no, I don’t,” Idris says.

Callie’s mouth curves, but she keeps the laugh soft. “He’s right. It makes you look like you’re going somewhere to win.”

I look down at myself, then back at her. “I like winning.”

“I know.” She reaches past me for a gray shirt on the rack, her fingers brushing the sleeve before she pulls it free. “Try this one.”

The fabric is softer than the others, warm gray with an open collar and enough structure to look intentional without lookingguarded. I change because Callie asked, and because the second I pull it over my shoulders, I know she was right. When I step out of the small dressing room, she goes quiet.

She crosses to me and smooths the collar with both hands. Her fingers barely touch my skin, but my whole body tracks the contact. “This one,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“It makes you look warm.” She keeps her attention on the fabric for another second before lifting her eyes to mine. “Theo might need that.”

The sentence pulls the room tighter around me as her hand moves to my chest. “You think he’ll trust warm?”

“I think he might want to.” She fixes one side of the collar that doesn’t need fixing. “And I think this feels like you without making him work so hard to see it.”

I cover her hand with mine, my nostrils flaring slightly as I try to drink in more of her scent. Callie leans toward me as I force my instincts through the medicated haze, my muscles locking up in response. A low rumble starts in the back of my throat as a smile starts to spread across my face.

The next second, Idris gently pulls me back into his chest, his purr settling the need. “Focus, babe. Deep breaths, Sloane.”

I grumble through it but comply, letting my body relax back into the haze. Callie folds her hands in front of her, teasing her bottom lip which only makes the moment worse. Her eyes widen in surprise when I reach for her, Idris twisting me around and flattening me against the wall.

His lips slam against mine, Idris completely unconcerned with the fact that Garrett paid for privacy, not a show. I let Idris take my mouth because there are very few things in the world better than his control slipping on purpose. My hands find his waist, gripping hard, and for a few seconds everything narrowsto coffee on his tongue, Callie’s soft breath beside us, and the steady pressure of his fingers holding me where he wants me.

When Idris breaks the kiss, his mouth stays close to mine, his breath uneven enough to satisfy something vicious in me. His hips rock against mine, showing just what my rut is doing to him. Needing more, I try to tug him closer when a soft purr erupts from the other side of the room, near Callie.

I frown and look up, Callie twisting around, both of us finding Garrett in a seat behind her. His hand is resting on the back of the sofa, a warm smile on his face. “I’d ask how Sloane could possibly still need more after last night,” Garrett purrs, “but Calliope may have chosen something dangerous.”

Callie’s blush deepens. She looks down at the shirt, then back at Garrett, and the pause between them lasts a second longer than it would’ve yesterday. Garrett leans back a little more, giving her space to decide the moment is over.

“We’re buying this one,” Callie says, turning back to me while her fingers make one final pass over the cuff.

“I’m not arguing with you,” I tell her.

Idris’ hand tightens once before he lets me go, which is probably wise. Callie’s attention drops to the blue-green top she picked up earlier, and the shift gives the room somewhere to go besides straight back into trouble.

“You should try it,” Garrett says.

She looks down. “I have clothes at home.”

“You said you wanted something soft.”

“I said maybe.”

“Then maybe try it.”

There’s no pressure in his voice, Callie disappearing behind the dressing room door with the top in hand, and I force myself to stay where I'm because pacing will only make Idris put his hands on me again.

When Callie steps out, she looks down at herself before looking at any of us. The top drapes softly over her curves, pretty without being fussy, and the color makes her look like she belongs in the gentle room she made for Theo.

I don’t say the first thing that comes into my head because it would be too much for a fitting room, too much before tomorrow, too much when she’s already standing there waiting to find out if we see her. “You look like you,” I say instead.

Her mouth softens.

Idris nods once. “That one.”