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She leans back, sinking into the couch, and narrows her dark-brown eyes at me. I just know I’m gonna hate whatever comes out of her mouth next. “Who is she?”
There’s no point denying it. Stella can read me better than just about anyone. Except Finn, he’s got some weird, psychic shit going on, I swear. And the last thing I want is her to go on a spiel about how doe-eyed and lovestruck I seem. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out when she applies.”
“Are you telling me you haven’t gone full stalker on her yet?” This makes me release a dry chuckle, amused at the irony of it myself.
The weird fluttering feeling low in my stomach—that I’m starting to learn is in fact metaphorical butterflies—happens again. I know this because I googled it to make sure there wasn’t anything medically wrong with me. “Actually,she’sstalkingme.”
“Keep the change.” I slip a bill onto the counter and watch the kid working the ice cream shop’s eyes widen and flick nervously between me and the bill when he realizes it’s a Benjamin. “And tell the pretty lady about to come in and order that you’re out of bowls. Make sure she orders a cone.”
“You got it, sir.” He slides the money off the counter at the same time the bells above the door ring andshewalks in. I usually find door chimes annoying as shit, but today it’s a sound so beautiful it would make the fucking heavens weep.
With a denim hat pulled down low over her face, she scans the flavors with her back to me. I wonder if she can even read the little labels. Is her heart pounding like mine, too distracted by my proximity to even read straight?
I wonder if she can feel my gaze rake her skin the way I yearn to do with my teeth. Her supple thighs are on exhibit in jean cut-offs. The dimpled skin below her ass has my dick swelling.
“Dude, you’re making a mess.” Roan slaps me on the arm. My strawberry ice cream has melted down my hand and is dripping into a pink puddle on the table.
“Then get me a fucking napkin.” I nudge him back. He sighs dramatically but pushes out of his seat. I watch her walk back the way she came and sit in a window seat. Smart to take the table closest to the door. Stupid to have her back to the window. Though it may be more stupid to have her back to us.
I figured she isn’t interested in sleeping with me…yet. That’s not her reason for tailing me anyway. No, she wants to keep her distance. She’s more interested in what I’m doing thanwhoI’m doing. My main guess is she thinks I killed someone close to her. Father, brother, boyfriend…a righteous anger burns my skin at the thought of any other man touching her. Suddenly, I’m hoping it is the boyfriend and I’m glad he’s dead. Because she doesn’t know it yet, but she became mine the moment she spilled that coffee.
So I gave her an opportunity she couldn’t resist. All four Fox brothers. If she’s following me for revenge, I’m sure she’s considering going after one of them. If there’s one thing people know about the Foxes, it’s that we are fucking feral when it comes to family.
And if I’m being honest, I just really fucking wanted to see her full, pink lips wrap around an ice cream cone. I wanted to see how her tongue moves as it licks a wide path up the ice cream. I came harder than I have in months this morning in the shower to just the fantasy alone.
And goddamn, the reality doesn’t disappoint. My fingers itch to rip my sunglasses off so I can get a completely unobstructed view.
When we get up to leave, I have to nearly bite my tongue off so I’m not walking out of here at full mast.
Though, part of me wants her to see what she does to me. Wants her to imagine the cock straining my jeans, straining her pussy, stretching her, filling her, fucking her so hard and deep she’ll never be able to forget the feel of me.
When I’m half a block from the Den, I call Stella and tell her to post the flyer.
Chapter six
Amanda Jones
Harlow
Isitdowninthe stylist's chair and, as she drapes the black cape over me, she asks, “So what are you looking for?”
“Dark, dark brown. Make me a different person.”
Several hours later, I’m staring at my new reflection.
In some cheesy, cliché way, it feels right. People make dramatic changes to their hair at pivotal moments in their lives, right? And if what I have planned doesn’t count as a pivotal moment, I don’t know what the fuck would.
“What do you think?” My hairdresser shakes out the curls she’s made in my hair to leave a beachy wave. My natural-auburn color is gone, and in its place, a deep, espresso brown shines under the intense studio lighting.
There seems to be a correlation between dark brunettes and Cash Fox. If I want to get close to him, I need to play the part. My lip curls into an involuntary sneer when I think of myself ever looking at him the way that woman outside his apartment did.
The stylist looks at me eagerly through the mirror, and I straighten my face.
“It’s perfect.”
Alright, step one: complete.
Now, let’s make this transformation official. Time to pay Kevin a visit.
