Debauched (Undone Book 3) (23 page)

I can’t add to it right now. So I tuck it away for another time and say simply, “They are lucky to have you.”

“Thanks.” Her expression relaxes and she stretches her neck, tilting her head to the side and rolling, before pressing her shoulders back, which thrusts out her breasts. “They’re playing a show the night before the reunion, do you want to go check them out?”

I would certainly like to check out this Gene guy. “That sounds fun.”

“Maybe we could see if everyone wants to go.”

I love that she’s suggesting this, and how she’s including herself in that circle instead of apart. It makes me hopeful. “Should I make the call, or do you want to?”

“I’ll do it.” She frowns and looks down.

“What?”

She clears her throat and pays close attention to her keyboard.

I jostle her shoulder with mine. “Ruby?”

A shrug. “What does this mean?”

I’m lost. “What does what mean?”

“Are we like…what… A couple?”

A smile twitches at my lips. “Are you seeing other people?”

“No!” Her head jerks up and she looks at me, appalled. “Are you?”

I laugh. “No. You’re the only woman I want.”

Her features relax and she licks her lips. “So?”

“Have I not repeatedly told you that you belong to me?”

Another pretty flush across her skin. “During sex.”

I grip her jaw and force her to meet my gaze. Her dark, thick lashes flutter. “You are mine. You belong to me and I do not share. Ever.”

Her breath catches.

I release her jaw and brush my mouth over her lips. “So, yes, we are a couple.”

“Okay.” The word is a rasp.

I tangle my fingers in her hair. “I assume you’re good with that.”

She nods.

“Come over here and we’ll make it official.”

She does, and I sink into her heat and hungry mouth, and forget about doing anything but showing her what her body craves, but her mind’s not ready for.

Ruby

“Layla, oh my god, help me.” I’m standing in the middle of my bedroom, as desperation and panic eat away at me.

Layla grins like the proverbial Cheshire cat.

I screech, “Stop laughing! You’re a horrible best friend.”

I called in an emergency girlfriend session, because I have no idea what to wear to dinner with a bunch of doctors, but all she can do is snicker at my distress.

When another giggle spurts forth, I cross my arms over my chest and huff. “You are the worst.”

Layla attempts to affix a serious expression on her face. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her face free of makeup, her hair in a messy bun. Apparently Michael and she’d been cleaning out their closet when I called, and Layla was more than happy to abandon the task and help me. She looks so relaxed.

I used to be relaxed. I want to be relaxed again.

“Okay, how about this?” She holds out a halter dress with an empire waist and pencil skirt. I wear it sometimes when I sing.

I shake my head. “Too sexy.”

We must have gone through all my clothes by now.

“Where are you going again?”

“Harvest.”

“Oh, fancy.”

“Focus, Layla.” I managed to avoid thinking about what I agreed to, until Chad dropped me off an hour ago, and now I’m in a panic.

She laughs again and turns back to my closet. She shifts through items before holding out a nineteen fifties shirtwaist dress. “This isn’t sexy.”

“It was a Halloween costume.” I start pacing around the room. “This is a disaster. Why am I doing this? I don’t like people. I don’t like parents. I need to cancel. This is too much.”

Layla grabs my arm, stilling me, before leaning in and peering into my face. Suddenly she gasps. “Oh my god.”

My heart speeds up. “What?”

“You and Chad. It’s serious.” She releases her grip and points to me. “You care what his parents think.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “I do. I really, really do, Laylay.”

All her amusement fades away and she gets that serious, take-no-prisoners look on her face. “Grab what you need and we’ll head to my house. I have lots of meeting-the-parents dresses to choose from.”

I experience a flood of relief. Then race like mad around my apartment, throwing stuff in my bag, unsure of what I might need.

Layla rolls her eyes. “He should be shot, giving you no notice to prepare.”

I toss makeup into a bag and say absently, “I think he did it on purpose.”

She scoffs. “So typical of them.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I turn my attention to her. “What does that mean?”

She narrows her blue eyes, and shakes her head. “Nothing.” She juts her head toward my door. “Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later we’re standing in Layla’s bedroom, and she’s kicked Michael out of the room. She hands me a tan dress. “Try this one.”

“I hate that.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s pretty, but conservative.”

“I want to look good, but like me, not you.”

She turns back and finds a black dress. A wraparound number, I’ve seen her wear before, she doesn’t have my cleavage though. I frown. “I don’t know.”

“Just try it.”

“Fine.” I put my hands on my waist and go to pull off my top and at the last second, remember what my chest, thighs and hips look like. I freeze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I dart a glance at the bathroom. This is my best friend. We were roommates. Stripping into my bra and underwear is not supposed to be a big deal. I frantically try and come up with an excuse. I can say I have to use the bathroom, but what about the next dress? And the next? Her gaze catches mine and I must look guilty because her expression turns speculative.

She tilts her head. “Did you have sex last night?”

I flush scarlet. I could deny it but she’s already on to me. “Um… Kind of.”

Her brows rise. “Kind of?”

I swallow. I had the best night of my life and I don’t know how to explain it to her. Ironically, she’s the one person who would understand, but I’m not ready to talk. I shrug.

She grins. “How was it?”

I sink down onto her massive bed. I prop my elbows on my knees and drop my head into my open palms. “Mind-blowing.”

I can’t even communicate how mind-blowing.

She laughs. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t know.” I look up at her. “It was so, so good, Layla. Like better than anything times a thousand.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me right away.”

“What was I suppose to say?”

She shrugs. “I had mind-blowing sex with Chad last night.”

If only it were that simple. Because while the statement is true, it leaves out so much. “Well, now you know.”

“And now you want to change in the bathroom?” She doesn’t elaborate but I know she understands why.

I just blink at her. A mixture of startled relief and embarrassed shame. But underneath, desire burns as I remember what he did to me. How much I liked it. No matter how wrong it was.

She clears her throat. “Will this dress work?”

It won’t. Layla’s cleavage spilled from the top, mine will overflow it. “Maybe something less low cut.”

She turns back to the closet and starts to rifle through her clothes again and I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s not going to press. She rummages in there for a good five minutes, muttering and making disgusted noises, making me laugh. Finally she emerges with a white dress that still has the tags on. It’s simple—a capped-sleeved, classic-cut dress that probably hits Layla’s thighs and will come to my knees. It looks like nothing. She hands it to me. “Try this. I didn’t try it on at the store so I’m not sure how it runs but it will look fabulous with your black hair.” She picks up a pair of nude heels at least four inches high, and hands them to me. “These will work.”

“Are you sure? It’s new?”

“I’m sure. It’s not a big deal. I impulse bought it.”

“Thanks.” I don’t argue, even though I’m not sure about the dress. I don’t have high hopes. Without looking at her I go to the bathroom and shut the door, stripping down to my bra and underwear, thankful I had the foresight to wear beige. I see now the dress is made from a stretchy fabric. I put the dress over my head, slip on the shoes and turn to the full-length mirror.

I start a bit at my reflection. The dress scoops low, but not so low you can see the marks on my skin. My breasts strain at the fabric and it fits like a glove. The dress looks custom made for me. I look like a grown up. Sophisticated, somehow. I’m not sure if I love it or I hate it. It’s gorgeous. I feel like an imposter. And every other dress I put on will pale in comparison.

I take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom.

Layla’s expression widens at the sight of me. “Keep the dress, it was clearly meant for you. I’ll never be able to wear it now.”

I shake my head. “God, no! Are you kidding? I’m not taking your clothes.”

“Consider it an early birthday present.”

“I can’t!”

“I don’t think you understand how that dress looks on you. Hang on, I’ll show you.” All the sudden she cranes her neck and yells, “Michael, can you come here?”

I hiss, “What are you doing?”

She waves a hand. “Trust me.”

He pounds down the hall, and when he swings open the door, Layla gestures to me. “Tell her.”

Michael takes one look at me and stops in his tracks. “Is that what you’re going to wear?”

I put my hand on my stomach and shift on the balls of my feet. I clear my throat. “It was an option.”

Layla pokes him in the arm. “Don’t make her doubt the power. Tell her.”

He gives me a long, slow once over. At six-five, he’s not only scarily gorgeous, he’s intimidating. “You look ridiculously hot.”

I roll my eyes. “You have to say that.”

“No, I do not. Let me put it another way.” Michael grins, his unusual hazel eyes mischievous. “You’d better prepare to get fucked where you stand, so try not to blush during the story Chad gives to his parents about why you’re late. You have a shit poker face, so keep cool. If you don’t, one look at you in that dress will give you away.”

Face heating fifty degrees; I stare at him in horror. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Michael shrugs. “I hope Chad’s not feeling particularly possessive, because if he is, you’d better watch out.”

Oh my god, am I really standing here having this conversation with my best friend’s fiancé? I scowl. “Would you stop that? Be serious.”

“I am dead serious, girl.” His tone, it does something deep in my belly.

My gaze meets his, and his…it’s…knowing. He called me girl—as I’ve heard him and Leo do countless times. As Chad sometimes calls me when we are at our most crazed.

I swallow hard and glance at the floor. “Maybe I should pick the tan one.”

He shakes his head. “No. Wear the dress. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to text Chad and have him pick for you. And I already know what he’ll choose. So save us the trouble.” Then he turns, gives Layla a hard kiss, and leaves.

She smirks. “See?”

I can only gape after Layla’s fiancé, taken aback. “Did Michael just blackmail me?”

She laughs. “How else can we be sure you make the right choice?”

I turn to study my reflection. On the surface, the dress is perfectly respectable. It doesn’t even show a ton of skin, but I can’t deny there’s something about it. Paired with my body type and coloring I’ll be hard pressed to find something better. “Are you sure about this? His parents.”

“Trust me. That’s why it’s so perfect.”

My brow furrows. I’m not remotely a fashionista. My only dresses are the ones I wear to sing, other than that I like jeans, skirts and tees. “I don’t follow.”

“The perfection of a dress like this is that it
is
respectable. There’s nothing inappropriate about its cut, or what it reveals. It’s you inside it that transforms it.” She gets a sly grin on her face, and really it’s almost terrifying in its deviousness. “And you, my dearest, bestest friend, are going to learn the fun of having a very proper, respectable dinner with an evil man whose one and only thought will be how to make you pay for making him suffer.”