I rushed inside and up to my room, unwilling to let anyone else see the goofy smile on my face. I didn’t want to be exposed for how weak I was feeling in my stupid boundaries with the guys. If no one else saw my reactions, I could pretend that I wasn’t a fool.
Standing in front of my mirror almost an hour later, dressed in an Audrey Hepburn number that ended just above my knees, I finished clasping the back of my pearl necklace and looked myself over. The black gloves were dramatic and excessive, but The Brownstone was probably one of the only places I’d ever go that would allow for the gloves.
“Wow. Where are you going?” Reba walked into my room without knocking, a habit I wished she’d break.
I applied one last touch-up of my red lipstick and turned to face her. “Dinner with a friend.”
“Dressed like that?”
“We’re going to The Brownstone.” I grabbed my clutch and made sure I had everything I needed.
“The Brownstone? Who are you going with? It’s impossible to get in there.” She stared at my pearls and stepped closer. “Are those mine?”
I batted her hand away when she tried to touch them. “No. They were my mother’s. Maybe Dad gives them to all his wives. I have to go.”
“SJ, I don’t think that—”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of whatever she had to say. Things with Reba were weird. She was so different from my mom and so much closer to my age, yet she still seemed to manage the condescending stepmom thing perfectly. It was infuriating. It was also something I took no joy in partaking in. I wasn’t interested in tiffing with Daddy’s New Girl.
I was out of the house and down the driveway before I even glanced at the clock to see what time it was. I assumed it was almost time for Holden to pick me up, but I didn’t know if he was punctual. I’d just been eager to get away from Reba.
Thankfully, Holden pulled up before I started walking aimlessly down the street. He parked on the side of the road and got out. Dressed in a pair of black, tailored slacks and a black button-down shirt, he looked sleek and powerful. He was freshly shaved, his hair was still damp, and the light scent of his cologne was delicious. As he moved to stand in front of me, his eyes moved down my body and his mouth quirked up.
“You look beautiful, Sugar.” He took my hand and spun me around. “Can I ask one inappropriate question before we go?”
I laughed. “Would you even be Holden if you didn’t?”
He slid his hands down my arms and held my hands over the gloves. “How high do the stockings go?”
I rolled my lips into my mouth and fought a smile. Knowing that I wasn’t being fair, or sticking to my own rules, I pulled back and caught the bottom of my dress. “Can I do one inappropriate thing before we go?”
“Fuck, yes.”
I pulled up my dress to show him the top of my thigh-high stockings, held up with the straps of my garter. The heat that filled his pale eyes told me the length of my stockings was just what he’d been hoping for.
I dropped my dress back into place and patted his chest. “Okay, we can go now.”
“Yep. As soon as blood flows back up to my brain.”
25
***Holden***
WassittingnexttoSugar in a tight booth a good idea for my self-control? Probably not. Was I all that interested in my self-control? Definitely not. I would do whatever she wanted, but I would’ve been a liar if I said I didn’t want everything by the end of the night.
I rested my arm behind her, giving in to the temptation to trail my finger along her bare shoulder when the mood struck, which was often. Her skin was so fucking soft, like expensive silk. She smelled so good, too. I wanted to taste her and see if I’d made up how good she was in my head since our first night together. I had a feeling she’d be just as delicious as I remembered.
Her dark hair was pulled up high, showing off her long neck. I wanted to mark it. I felt an insane urge to lean over and suck on the skin just under her ear, all to watch her squirm for me.
I couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. In a dress that reminded me of pictures of my grandma from her younger years, she wore pearls like she was auditioning for the part of First Lady. Yet, I knew the dirty things Sugar was capable of and that fucked with my head.
I wanted to see that dress wrinkled and torn on my bedroom floor. I’d buy her ten new ones, but I wanted that one, in that moment, to show how desperately my body craved hers.
“You’re staring.” Sugar turned the slightest bit to face me and smiled. “A lot.”
I’d spoken to Barrett about how upset she’d been about her idiot ex being married already. She hadn’t cried in front of Barrett, but when I’d spotted her coming out of her garage earlier, her eyes had been puffy. I wanted to strangle the asshole who’d hurt her and dance a jig in front of her to remind her that she didn’t need to cry over dumb fucks who couldn’t make her come. Not when I was there and willing.
“Just taking you in.” I stroked her shoulder again. “Are you feeling any better?”