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Maddox:You’re going to make her feel like shit, aren’t you?
A chuckle rolls out of me with zero effort.
Me:Of course. Then she’ll turn into a bitch and we’ll fight. It’s been months since I got make-up sex.
Maddox:Still an asshole, lol. Enjoy it. Twenty-five is my best year yet.
My phone slides out of my hands with the cursor still blinking. I glance up to tan skin, long, silky, black hair and piercing eyes, before reaching for my phone. She steps back, pulling it out of reach with a smile on her face. “Only one girl gets away with that.”
Navy steps to the side, my eyes following hers to the platform directly in front of us that stands before mirrors. “You mean that girl?”
My head rises, meeting a set of blue eyes I often dream about, just before my vision focuses on what’s in front of me, taking her in on the platform she’s standing on, her backside a reflection in the mirror. Baby-blue, satin dress that touches the floor and tiny straps that lay on her shoulders in a dainty way, fitted in all the right places. The low neckline reveals too much cleavage for comfort, but she looks too good in it to bitch. It’s simple, and solid, but Paxtyn has a way of taking classic to another level. If only her long, two-toned hair was wavy. I definitely like it down versus all those over-the-top updos girls usually do.
Her hands lightly rub up and down the fabric over her hips in a nervous manner. Everything is quiet in our area, but I can’t think, like my brain is fogged. Holy mother of God. That’s her color. Not black. Not red. Baby fucking blue. “Does it suck? I don’t know this look.”
“I want a guy to look at me like that,” Navy speaks up.
And suddenly, I remember we’re not alone, clearing my throat. “You’re buying that one.” She smiles when I stand, as if she knows what I’m saying without me having to stumble all over my words from being uncomfortable in front of another person. I’ve never been a man of compliments and it’s difficult for me to turn those thoughts into words.
I grab my phone out of Navy’s hand. “I need a dip,” I say to whoever is listening, and then I take my racing heart out of the building to calm down.
THREE
PAXTYN
Istand in front of the body-length mirror in the corner of my room next to the door that leads outside, applying bright red lipstick to my otherwise subtle makeup. I wanted my lips to be the bigger effect. I tousle my wavy, Ombré hair as I rub my lips together, and then check my whitened teeth for lipstick rub-off. I can’t believe I let him talk me into wearing my hair like this.
He should be here soon. My belly flutters from the nerves that are never present unless it’s related to Landon. I give myself a once-over, liking most of what I see. The rest of it I’ll have to deal with. I don’t let people see my hair natural. Ever. I just don’t like it. It feels messy and untamed. My mom taught me to care about my appearance at a young age, and that has nothing to do with money. I don’t care for all the extravagant updos either. It’s just not me.
But, it’s the only request he had, which seemed insignificant compared to him tagging along to a high school prom, and when Jacobe ended up switching limos to ride with his date and her friends at the last minute, Navy begged Landon for us to ride with them and a few others. His answer was just ‘ok’ as if he didn’t think about it at all first, like the fact that Chase and Jacobe are best friends . . . oh, and I’m Jacobe’s ex. That’s Landon, though, confident in everything and doesn’t give a shit about what anyone else thinks.
There’s a knock at my door as I’m putting on a pair of simple diamond stud earrings to add a little sparkle. It’s likely Mom to hurry me along. She’s reminded me umpteen dozen times since I started getting ready that she wants a photo session before the limo arrives. I couldn’t even bitch about it since it’s my first prom. I was asked both years by older guys at my school but never wanted to go. I said that my mom wouldn’t allow it ‘til junior year, which was a lie. Presley went all four years.
I move toward the door as I slip the back on the last earring peg. I haven’t put my heels on yet. When I grab the doorknob and open the door, my breath hitches as my eyes settle on Landon in a tux, the vest the same color blue as my dress—ice blue. It fits perfectly in more ways than one. I slowly take him in, not caring one bit that I’m gawking. He got a haircut at some point today, the ends no longer brushing the tops of his ears. He’s freshly shaven too, despite how much I love when he has stubble, which I prefer sometimes, at least during certain activities. You can’t see a single tattoo either. It’s like going on a date with a nice alter-ego; albeit, hot, but different than I’m used to.
I’ve never understood the hype over a man in a tuxedo. It’s just a dressed-up suit, after all, and I see it all the time when it comes to my father’s commitments. Charity events are like a church service for rich people. Most never miss an opportunity to climb a rung up the social ladder or look good for the masses.
But when you take a guy like Landon who considers a cheap polo or a button-down shirt dressing up, this is something else entirely. Of course, this is also coming from a girl who was a total horn-dog the first time I saw him in work jeans, a tee shirt, and steel-toe boots. He almost missed his flight.
My line of sight rises from the clear plastic box in his hand that’s holding a corsage, meeting his heated eyes that are swirling with something animalistic. Those orbs of his are like crystal balls; so much more inside than what meets the eye. Sometimes I wish I knew what he was thinking, like the other day in the dress shop when he saw my dress, but then again, the man of few words makes a bigger impact when he speaks.
I smile. “You clean up nice.”
His eyes keep veering to my display of cleavage. “Let me in.”
A wave of pride washes through me just before I step to the side and open the door all the way. He passes through, making his way into my room. The same room he always sneaks into with his key to my exterior door the first night he arrives home because he usually gets in late, and many weeknights too since Mom only lets me stay over with him at Konnor’s old house on weekends or when school is out.
I loved her a little more, though, when she slipped into a conversation to keep my bedroom door locked at night right after that talk first occurred. It was like she wasn’t going to tell me outright he could stay over since I’m in high school, but she also knows I don’t see him for the two weeks he’s gone and then during the day when I’m at school while he’s off. I think she likes that he works off half the month, like we’ll have a healthier relationship having some time apart. I can’t say I feel the same.
I can read between the lines with Mom, like her silently saying your father better not catch him in here. But I’ve also kept my grades up and haven’t missed class without her permission, which is rare, so she’s been more lenient on me lately. She mostly just wants me in the house and not stirring up trouble.
I close the door. Landon places the corsage container on my desk and a half second later he’s coming toward me, his hands instantly settling on my hips. He leans in. I react before I can think, covering his mouth with my hand. “Lipstick.”
He softly growls against my palm, just before he grabs my wrist and pulls it down. “Did you not think to buy the kind that doesn’t come off?”
Like I’m an idiot . . .
“It is smudge-proof, but we still can’t kiss. You know what happens when we kiss. It always turns into a full-on make-out session, and I’m not starting prom night with angry red skin around my mouth. My mom wants photos. We can do that later when I’m staying with you.”
