“Carter,” she whispers, running her fingers over the fabric. She can’t take her eyes off it. I think I knocked it out of the damn park.
I step in behind her, glancing down at the dress while sheadmires it. Long-sleeved, not too short but not too long, either. The top has a corset-like design, and I know it’s going to look insane on her. Especially with that red hair of hers.
“You don’t have to wear it this weekend, but it’s yours,” I say quietly.
Her fingers keep skimming the dress. “I can’t accept this.”
“Yes, you can,” I tell her. “You deserve pretty things, Red.”
“Carter,” she whispers again.
“Try it on,” I encourage her.
“Why did you do this?” she asks, resting it on my kitchen island. She peers up at me. “What’s it for?”
“Do I need a reason?”
Her throat bobs. “Yes.”
“I told you while we’re doing this, I’m going to treat you properly. It’s a gift because I saw it and thought of you. That’s all.”
“It’s expensive.”
I shoot her a look. We’re not having the ‘I’m rich’ talk again. I’m rich. I have more money than I know what to do with. A two-thousand-dollar dress is nothing, and she knows that, even if she’s never had this kind of financial freedom before.
“I can’t.”
“You’re keeping it,” I tell her. I place my finger under her chin and force her watery gaze to me. “Non-negotiable, alright? I asked Penny for your size, but she told me it was a guess, so make sure it fits.”
Arden glances back at the dress, a wistful look on her face. Her hands reach for it again, touching, exploring. A small smile touches my favourite mouth, and she scoops it into her arms, squishing it to her chest like she would Stinky.
And I’m fucking putty. Down bad. Out of the game. I’mdigging my fucking grave as we speak. My chest physically hurts watching her.
Her eyes meet mine. “Thank you, boyfriend.”
My heart sputters at the title, at the gratitude on her face. One thing I have noticed over the last few weeks is that she’slighter.Her smiles are more frequent, her body less tense. She sleeps better. There’s just a tangible sense of peace in her that wasn’t there before.
I know it’s because of my money. My money has given her some much-needed relief and the chance to breathe. But it’s more than that. It’s also us, together. Me and her. We get each other. We have fun together. We bring out this strange sense of stillness in one another. Even in the chaos, I look at her and feel a tranquillity and calmness that is unfamiliar to someone who was born with buzzing in his brain.
She looks at me and feels safe.
She skips off to the bathroom to try it on and I find myself staring after her long after she’s gone. I need sex. Badly. Except I don’t want it from other women. When she suggested it, I thought of two people who might be able to keep it a secret, but I couldn’t fathom the possibility.
I want her.
I want Arden.
I want her lips, her body, her smile. I want all of her glares and every single sharp word from her tongue.
I wanther.
My heart beats like a drum, calling to her. It’s a song that only she can hear. One that reflects the rush of certainty I feel when I look at her. She’s not really my girlfriend. Sure, whatever. That doesn’t change the fact that I want to make my fake girlfriend come for the first time in years in averyreal way.
When she pokes her head out of the bathroom with a bigsmile and tells me it fits, but refuses to step out so I have to see it the night of the party, I have to mentally tell both my heart and my dick to calm the fuck down.
This arrangement is slowly becoming unbearable.
Boston Black may have been right about everything.
