Page 47
The flowers hang in the air between us and I stand a little straighter when I notice Willa’s gaze. Her eyes darken a little and I feel a little more confident in the tux that Pops chose for me.
“You look,” she swallows, “really handsome.”
“Yeah?” I say feeling ten fucking feet tall. “Pops picked out the tux.”
“Of course he did.”
I huff, “Maybe don’t tell him you like it. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Wanna know a secret?”
“Shoot.” I grin at her.
She leans forward slightly, giving me a clear view of her cleavage, “Pops picked out this dress, too.”
“No shit?” My brows raise and I get to take her in without her thinking I’m perving at her.
Willa’s curves are wrapped in a silk floral dress that nips in at the waist before skimming her hips and thick thighs. She has heels on which makes her only a little shorter than me and if we weren’t friends I’d be able to kiss her without bending or getting a crick in my neck.
“Well,” I say, my voice coming out a little deeper than I was expecting, “I’d say he made a great fucking choice.”
Willa throws her head back and lets out the raspy laugh I love. I’ll let her laugh for as long as she fuckings wants if it means I can bask in her glow.
“So, I guess we better get going, huh?” she says once her giggles settle down.
“Shit, yeah, I guess we should.” I crook my elbow, holding it out to her, “M’lady.”
“Wow, ain't no one ever called me a lady before,” she snorts.
“Well, you ain't been hanging out with the right people, babe.”
“Damn right,” she mutters.
I decide then and there to treat her. The whole fucking hog. Starting with opening the car door for her.
“No bike, huh?”
“Not in that get up, babe.”
“Fair enough.”
She takes the hand I offer her and she slides into the backseat of the car that Roman of all people has provided for the evening. A fleet of sleek, black bullet proof rides complete with Russian chauffeurs. I have no idea if they understand English or not, and I guess I don’t care too much. Not when they put up a privacy wall between themselves and us.
“Whoa, this is pretty damn fancy, Mad Dog,” Willa breathes.
“I know, I kinda feel a little weird about it,” I share with her.
She turns to look at me, her bright green eyes lined in black. “Like you’re a kid pretending to be a fancy grown up?”
I think about her words before grinning. “Yeah, exactly like that,” I chuckle. “Just not right, like when you pet a dog the wrong way.”
It’s her turn to giggle, “Or when you see little kids in leather jackets? It’s not wrong, but there’s no need for it either.”
“Unless they’re MC, right?”
“Of course.” She thinks for a moment. “Although the DRMC kids are scary on their own. They don’t need leather jackets.”
“No they damn well don’t. I’m not sure how I feel about them one day taking over the MC.”
