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I was currently wearing one of the items from my first store order. Chloe had asked if I could start a lingerie section. She’d had several requests from her stores managers. The lavender satin nightgown I had slipped on had matching thong panties and barely covered my butt. Bowie liked visual things, and I was glad I’d bought this one today when the shipment arrived.
I heard the keys in the door rattle and began pouring the wine into the glasses. I waited for him to come into the kitchen and say something about what I was wearing. Smiling, I stood there, acting like I was busy with my back to him. Bowie didn’t ever get real creative with sex, but I was determined to eventually get him to lose his cool during sex. Maybe some sweaty, out-of-control, dirty-talking sex in the kitchen would finally happen for us.
His footsteps stopped, and when he remained silent, I turned to see what was wrong.
Kye stood there, staring at me. Not Bowie. The look in his eyes was something I had never seen before. Kye was a man-whore. A strong wind could make the man horny. But still, my traitorous body tingled when I got a look of him drinking me in.
I crossed my hands over my chest and glared at him. “What are you doing here? And stop looking at me like that!”
Kye licked his bottom lip, flashing his tongue ring in the process. “Damn, Baby Doll, what the fuck are you wearing?” he drawled, and then he pointed at my crotch. “Better uncross your arms. I am getting a view of something that you don’t want me to see.”
I let my arms fall immediately. “Kye! Stop looking!” I scolded him.
He laughed and covered his eyes with his hand. “Jesus, I didn’t mean to look. It was just right there. Why are you dressed like a fucking wet dream?”
My body flushed, and I wanted to slap myself. This was not the way to react to Kye. Although I was pretty sure I had started to get fluttery around him when I turned eleven. Didn’t matter. He was my best friend, and he was a slut.
“Bowie is here. He surprised me today. He’s gone to pick up our dinner.”
“And you think he is gonna be able to eat and drink red wine when you look like that?” Kye asked.
I was smiling, and I couldn’t help it. Sure, he was a slut, but when he complimented me, it made me slightly breathless, like I was still that eleven-year-old girl, wanting him to notice me as more than one of the guys.
“What did you come by for?” I asked him.
He had to leave before Bowie got back. The last thing I needed was to give Bowie any reason to doubt my friendship with Kye. So far, we’d been doing good. The three of us. We weren’t hanging out together or anything, but still, we were okay.
“I was going to see if you wanted to go get ribs and play some pool,” he explained. “Clearly, I should have called first.”
“Probably would have been a good idea, but I need you to go before Bowie gets here and knows you’ve seen me in this. He’ll freak out.”
Kye nodded, keeping his eyes covered. “Yeah. I’d hate to hurt him when he took a swing at me.”
Sighing, I walked over and grabbed Kye’s arm, trying not to think about how big and hard his biceps were. Not at all slim and toned, like Bowie’s.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here,” I said, leading him back to the door.
“Do you dress like that often for him?” Kye asked me.
“That is not your business,” I replied.
“What? I see my best friend’s smooth, round asscheeks peeking out from under a satin nightie, and I can’t ask questions?”
He needed to shut up. Unfortunately, Kye and his blond hair, blue eyes, and muscular, tattooed, and pierced body affected females, even the ones who didn’t want it to affect them. Like me. I did not want my panties getting damp over my best friend.
I opened the door and shoved him out of it. Kye dropped his hand and turned to look back at me. I scowled at him before slamming it shut. I let out a sigh and rested my forehead on smooth wood. God, why did he have to see me in this? I was never going to hear the end of it.
“I come in peace.”
Kye’s voice startled me, and I spun around in the storeroom of his mom’s Ocala boutique to see him standing behind me, holding up two paper bags in his hands. Other than a few texts from him, saying he hoped I hadn’t caused Bowie to suffer a heart attack with my nightie and the usual good morning, Baby Doll text, we hadn’t spoken since last night.
