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I do not like the idea of Samantha walking home unaccompanied, but if she refuses my escort, there’s not much else I can do.
“We’ll be right there,” Samantha shouts back, then she tugs me over near the dumpster behind Tipsy’s.
“Look,” she starts, avoiding my gaze. “What happened earlier can’t happen again.”
What does she speak of? The kiss in the book closet? Her request to act as her fake boyfriend?
“The hand holding,” she finally says.
Ah, that. “So I am to act as your boyfriend, but only in front of certain people. Is that right?”
“Well, yeah. I don’t want Vanessa and your brothers knowing about this because they’ll never let it go until we’re married,” she says, the word like acid on her tongue. “Is that what you want, Mylo? Marriage? Living your life for someone else?”
Yes,my draxilio purrs.
I pause. Even inside my own head, there is not a clear answer. Not long ago, my response would have been a resounding no, or at the very least, not yet, but now, when I think of marriage, my mind grows murky.
As I was never able to picture someone specific to share my life with, the idea of it seemed too vague, too laborious a task to pique my interest. But when Samantha says the word “marriage,” hers is the face I see at my side. It is the comfort and warmth of her hand I would seek out on my most trying days. It is her body I would worship until my final breath. And none of that would feel like work. It would be…easy.
“Of course not,” I lie, because it’s clearly what she wants to hear.
“Me either,” she replies firmly. “What we have now is great, just the way it is. In order to keep it that way, this,” she gestures between us, “needs to remain a secret.”
“Right.”
“But in two weeks, at my ex’s wedding…” her voice takes on a throaty, coy tone, “you’re my boyfriend. My hands will be wherever you want them to be.”
She grabs my chin and pulls me down to her level, then offers me a quick brush of her lips before she saunters away and into the night. While my blood burns to run after her and hold her against a tree as I thrust into her hot cunt, I steady my breaths and tell myself that I will not have to wait long. In front of our friends, we must act like we are nothing, but in private, and at this upcoming wedding, her body is mine to ravish.
CHAPTER 9
SAM
“Idon’t know about this one,” I say to Vanessa as I adjust the tulle skirt of my dress. It’s the fourth one I’ve tried on, and so far, none seem right for Nate’s wedding, which is now less than a week away. I’m incredibly distracted and irritable due to my lack of sleep this past week. Mom has started sleepwalking, and I’ve gotten a total of eight hours of solid shut-eye in the last six days. Dress shopping is the last thing I want to be doing, especially since none of these dresses look good on me. “It’s too froofy, I think.”
Vanessa tilts her head from side to side as her brow furrows. “Yeah, it’s not you. Your style is more edgy and bold, and this is…” she gestures at the embroidered roses covering the bottom half of the dress made from glittery beads.
“MoreBridgerton-y?” I offer.
“Yes,” Vanessa exclaims. “Wait, are you finally reading the books?” Before I answer, she shakes her head with a pleased smirk. “I’ve been trying to get you to read them for years.”
“No, not reading the books,” I clarify. “But Mom and I are watching the show.”
“Isn’t it so good?” she asks.
I nod.
She eyes me closely for a moment, then her jaw falls open. “Wait, is this because of Mylo’s trivia night? Did you start watching it because of him?”
Shit, shit, shit. I shouldn’t have even mentionedBridgerton. What was I thinking? Although, I did see her and Axil at trivia night. Would it really be unheard of for me to see how much fun everyone had and start watching it on my own? It’s not as if admitting I started watching because of Mylo is the same as admitting we’re sleeping together.
Still, though, I don’t want to drop any breadcrumbs to our secret fling that Vanessa would feel compelled to follow.
“Did I start watching one of the most popular shows on Netflix because of a boy?” I ask, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “No, girl. I’m watching it for the sex scenes just like everyone else.”
She shrugs. “Fair enough.” Then points to the dress hanging behind the rest I picked to try on. “I have a good feeling about the purple halter dress. Put that one on next.”
I do as she asks, grateful the subject ofBridgertonhas been dropped. Heading back into the dressing room, I pull off the ball gown and tug the halter dress over my head. The color is a dusty, dark purple, and the top is a cross-halter style that meets at the base of my throat, leaving my back and shoulders bare, and the silk fabric wraps delicately around my boobs, making them look bigger than they are, which I love. The skirt is more textured but hugs my hips and ass in a flattering silhouette, with a cut-out placed just above my ribs and a slit that reaches mid-thigh, giving it a more modern flair. Plus, this shade of purple really pops with my skin tone and dark brown hair.
