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“Bailey, come on in and have a seat. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Lawson, but I’d love a glass of water if I may.”
“Please, call me Cynthia.”
The evening continued with my mother fawning all over Bailey. We had a dinner of steaks and potatoes, nothing fancy. It was surreal and really nice if I’m being honest. I’m relaxed, and this is the first time I’ve been relaxed in my parents’ home in years.
The conversation is so easy between my mother and Bailey. I would have never guessed it in a million years. Bailey is one of a kind, but she’s not my mother’s kind. My mom pawned me off on girls like Alexa: rich, beautiful, and worldly. Bailey is beautiful and unique, and everything all of those girls weren’t, and I’m feeling like I’ve grossly misjudged my mom all these years.
They talk for what feels like hours about New Jersey, of all things. Leggings, music, cosmetics—you name it, they discussed it. I’d usually be bored out of my mind by now, but I’m not. I feel at peace. I’m completely captivated by both of the women sitting before me. For the first time, I can envision a life beyond the club, and it doesn’t scare the fuck out of me.
“Can you point me in the direction of a powder room?”
“Of course, dear. It’s down the hall and to your left three doors down.”
I jump up to pull her chair out for her, and my mother beams. She’s clearly proud. Bailey walks out of the room, and I prepare myself for the disappointment.
“She’s lovely. I adore her.”
“What’s going on, Mother? This whole thing . . . What’s your angle?”
“There’s no angle. I sincerely like her. She’s beautiful, funny, intelligent, but most importantly, I can tell you genuinely care for her. It’s the first time you’ve ever looked at a girl that way. She’s special.”
“She is. I do care for her. I love her.”
“Take it slow and make sure because I truly see a future with you two. She reminds me a lot of myself.”
I snort.
“I’m serious, Drew. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I wasn’t always a wealthy heiress. I don’t think now’s the time to discuss it, but soon I’d like to tell you my history. It might help you understand more about me.”
“Did I miss any fun stories?” Bailey strolls in, completely oblivious to the revelations of my mother and my conversation.
“No, dear, I was just about to remind Drew of our annual gala. It’s a fundraiser that we do every year. I was hoping you’d accompany him?”
“I believe you just stole my thunder, Mom.” I chuckle at her enthusiasm. “But yes, Bailey, I’d love for you to be my date.” I give her my most charming smile and watch as the blush creeps across her cheeks. It’s time for me to get Miss Jameson home before I do things to her that would embarrass us both right here in front of my mother. This night just solidified in my mind that Bailey Jameson is mine.
61
Bailey
As my eyes flutter open, my thoughts filter back to dinner last night. Mrs. Lawson—Cynthia—is nothing at all like I expected. She was funny and warm and, most of all, not pretentious. I could see in Drew’s eyes that he was just as shocked by her behavior, and a warm feeling weaved its way through my body. Drew’s mom liked me.
I remember how his keen eyes were, probing hers all through dinner, waiting for her to slip but then how relaxed they seemed after I returned from the bathroom. I’m not dumb enough to think they didn’t talk about me while I was gone, but whatever was said obviously put him at ease, and that put me at ease.
When we arrived back at his apartment, I began to muse about it, but he quickly shut me up the way Drew always does with his filthy, domineering ways. And, god, was he filthy last night. The way he’s in tune to my body should be illegal. He had me screaming within five minutes of walking in the door.
I stretch my arms above my head as I yawn, wringing out every last bit of sleep I have left in my body. Moving my right foot off the bed, I go to stand, but as my foot feels the cold wood floors, two strong arms envelop my waist, pulling me back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His husky voice tickles the back of my neck as he pulls my back flush with his chest.
“Bathroom,” I whisper. My breathing becomes shallow as I feel his tongue gently lick the shell of my ear. My heart pounds rhythmically against the walls of my chest.
“I don’t think so, Bailey.”
The authoritative way he says my name sends a chill down my spine. Slowly, I feel one hand unwrap from behind me and begin his descent downward, skimming my waist then my taut stomach all the way to my pelvic bone. My body is a live wire, sparking with each move he makes.
