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“Sorry, sweetness,” I tell her, strolling over to help. “What’s the problem with this bastard? He giving you trouble?”
She flashes her blue-gold eyes over her shoulder, smirking. “You’re giving me trouble, Trouble. But, yes, the strap is too tight.”
I agree, nodding. “You should definitely just burn it and never wear one again.”
A bit of color touches her cheeks. “But then everyone would see how small my boobs actually are.”
I click my tongue at her and she narrows her eyes, challenging me. “Oh come on. You have to admit; they’re small.”
She’s right. Everything about her is dainty, even her curves. As far as I’m concerned, she’s exactly perfect.
I tilt my head at her. “Okay, sure, but that’s like saying ice cream is cold while neglecting to mention how fucking delicious it is.” I bend my head and nuzzle between her tits, groaning quietly. “So fucking delicious. It’s a crime to cover these beauties with bras.”
Remi giggles. “If I burned all my bras, everyone would see my nipples,” she whispers, eyes dancing. “And you and I would have to bury the bodies of all Cassian’s victims.”
Good point. Because he would definitely murder anyone who stared at her tits too long.
I help her get her strap to work and watch while she pulls a light blue blouse over her head. When she’s covered, I pull her into my arms and hug her securely, mumbling a confession.
“I thought something was wrong. I had a weird feeling.”
She goes still, peering up at me. “I was—I actually was upset before you walked in.”
It doesn’t take a genius for me to see why. She has all sorts of packages strewn around her room, half-opened. There are even a few propped in front of her nest. I feel a giddy wave of anxiety just looking at them, so God only knows how she feels.
A solution comes to me, so simple that I know it must be brilliant. “Put some jeans on, sweetness. I have an idea.”
chapter
forty-two
Damon looks exactly the way you would imagine a pro-athlete to look driving his convertible.
Cool and stupidly gorgeous.
Or maybe I’m the stupid one, because it’s all I can do not to openly gape at him.
After telling me to change into jeans, he ran off and returned in a pair of his own, along with the softest gray sweater. It’s late March, not nearly cold enough for sweaters in Florida, but he made me grab one before he escorted me down to his Audi.
While my curls fly everywhere, his thick black hair remains slicked into his usual carelessly coiffed style. Equally dark aviators shield his eyes as he laces our fingers together and steers one-handed through the curving roads that lead to town.
Maybe he wants to go shopping, I fret. That would be ill-advised since I finally broke down a couple days ago and went on a late-night online-ordering binge. With Cassian and Damon at an away game on the other side of the state, and Smith doing his usual work-late routine, it was my first night in the pack house alone.
Normally, I would have hidden in my nest until one of them came home… but the nest is still an entirely empty round room with a bare mattress built into the floor.
Hence the panicked shopping.
While I chew on my lip, Damon whips us into a parking lot at the back of what looks like an old warehouse. It’s huge, made of white metal.
When I raise a brow at him, he cocks a crooked grin and squeezes my palm. “Come on, pretty girl. I want you to play with me.”
I really should have known.
“Size seven?”
Damon’s still grinning as he dangles a pair of skates in front of me. I nod, doing my best not to openly pout.
Apparently, I fail because he chuffs a laugh as he drops to his knees and starts to remove my sandals for me.
