Page 145 of Top Shelf

“I didn’t say anything,” I argue defensively.

He snorts, still not looking up from his phone. “You’re driving me mad with your pacing.”

Silas, who was leaning against the side of the limo with his hands in his pockets, lifts his notebook.

I can feel the energy radiating off you from here.

Scoffing, I shoot him a glare. “Whatever.”

His mouth twitches.

Ronan looks unfairly calm in a black suit that probably costs more than my first car. Dark hair styled, beard neatly trimmed, cufflinks glinting under the streetlight. He looks exactly like the kind of man mothers invite to fundraisers—and daughters envision being ruined by afterward.

Silas looks just as bad, though in a completely different way. Black-on-black suit, no tie, white-blond hair brushed back but already falling loose at the front.

As for me? I wasn’t born to be stuffed into a suit. I hate them. They make me feel like I’ve been strapped into a straitjacket. But as soon as Ronan told me Wren would think I looked hot in this get-up, I snatched the suit out of his hand.

Still doesn’t mean I’m happy to be wearing one.

The front door to Wren’s building opens, and every thought in my head dies.

She steps out beneath the soft glow of the entryway lights, and for half a second, I forget how to breathe.

Fuck.

She’s wearing an emerald-green dress. The kind of green that makes her skin glow and turns her dark hair into something almost unreal beneath the lights. The fabric hugs her like it was made for the sole purpose of testing my self-control, fitting through the waist before falling softly around her legs with a slit that flashes one thigh every time she moves.

Her hair is swept back from her face, loose pieces curled around her cheeks. Her lips are painted a soft red, her eyes framed behind gold-rimmed glasses tonight instead of her usual bright colors.

Devastating.

That’s what she is. Absolutely fucking devastating. To my sanity. My heart. Every fucking piece of me.

Ronan exhales beside me. “Jesus.”

Silas gulps audibly.

I wouldn’t be surprised if there are three identical puddles of drool at our feet.

Wren slows when she sees us, her smile turning uncertain. “Too much?”

Ronan steps forward first because apparently he still remembers how to function like an actual person. “You look beautiful.”

Wren’s eyes soften. The way she smiles at him, equal parts vulnerability and affection, undoes me. “Thank you.”

I drag my gaze over her, taking in every delectable inch. I love every version of Wren. I love her in her heels and tight skirts, driving me crazy at the rink. I love her in her leggings and oversized hoodies, chillin’ on the couch. But this version of Wren steals my breath. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s my favorite, because I’ll always choose ‘every day Wren’ over ‘occasion Wren’, but the way she looks tonight is something else. It makes me very fucking glad I listened to Ronan and accepted his penguin suit.

“Respectfully, Little Moth…”

She narrows her eyes, andfuck, does that look not go straight to my dick. “Not a single word that follows ‘respectfully’ has ever been respectful.”

“Fair.” I smirk, before trailing my eyes slowly over her curves. “Beautiful doesn’t do you justice.”

Her cheeks flush.

Silas moves forward before I can figure out what else to say. Seriously, I feel the need to say more but words just aren’t sufficient for what Gwendolyn Winslow does to me.

He lifts his notebook, but he doesn’t write immediately. Justlooks at her for a long second before finally dragging the pen across the page.