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1
WAYLON MCALLISTER
“Absolutely not.”
“But Waylon—”
“Nobut Waylons,” I interject sharply. Not missing a beat, I turn my head and point a finger at Will just as he appears in the open doorway. “You shut the fuck up.”
His brows arch and he holds his hands up, halting mid-step in the threshold. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
His grin widens, dark blue eyes sparkling.
My eyes drop, and my mouth dries, andfuckme, if he doesn’t roll his bottom lip between his teeth like the cocky, knowing asshole that he is.
Bastard.
I hear a huff, and when I manage to drag my gaze away from my boyfriend’s stupidly perfect face, I’m not surprised to find an irate Ivy peering up at me, arms crossed, narrowed green eyes blazing.
In one hand, she’s got a long, narrow makeup brush pinched between her fingers, and in the other, clenched in her palm, I know there’s a little palate of rainbow eyeshadow. One she’s currently desperately trying to transfer onto my face.
“No, Ivaiah,” I say deeply.
“You’re no fucking fun. It’s just makeup.”
Tingles spread across my neck, and I mash my teeth at the sudden crawling-out-of-my-skin sensation zipping through my bones, igniting my nerve-endings, until I feel like I might literally explode. And not in the fun, pleasurable way.
It’s just makeup.
Yeah…
It should be.
I’m being fucking ridiculous and I know it.
“You guys do realize it’s a Pride parade, not a funeral, right?” Will drawls.
Ivy and I blink at one another, then turn our heads at the same time to face Will, our bodies following. Just off to the right of him, there’s a dresser—hisdresser, or at least it used to be; I don’t know what’s in it now—and above it, hanging from the wall, a wide mirror.
I spare it a fleeting glance, taking in the way Ivy and I stand side by side, dressed head to toe in black with hair to match. You can’t see my jeans or boots from this angle, nor Ivy’s chunky combat boots—sans heels, because for once, she actually decided to be practical—and ripped fishnets and jean shorts, but it’s true. We’re not exactly dressed for the occasion.
Why she’s trying to assault my face with rainbow glitter shit, when she doesn’t have a drop of color anywhere on her, except for dark red lipstick, beats the hell out of me.
Scowling, I glance down at Will’s shirt, and throw a hand his way. “Speak for yourself. Where’d you come from, Dad Fest ’69?”
He coughs and brings a fist to his mouth, eyes blinking rapidly a couple times. Next to me, Ivy snorts. I cut her a sideways glance, catching her rolling her lips together, fighting off a smile.
I’m just about to call her out on it when footsteps sound from the hall, drawing my attention. Will cranes his head around, before stepping out of the way to let Jeremy in.
Warm amber brown eyes sweep over each of us, his steps slowing. “What?” he says suspiciously.
“Nothing,” I chirp at the same time Ivy says, “Finally.”
She stomps over to him and grabs his hand, dragging him over to the bed. I step away, giving them room, and go join Will.
Glancing over my shoulder, I feel something clunk in my chest when I find Jeremy biting back a small smile as Ivy all but shoves him onto the bed. Spreading his thighs for her, she steps between them and clasps his face in her hand, angling it back.
