Page 33 of Knot All that Glitters: Part 1

Ren grins evilly at me. “I don’t think they’d have a problem with that, actually. And besides, we both know you’re going there to get dicked down by the Calloway pack. Bringing nothing but lingerie will only hurry things along.”

“Ren,” I wheeze out, face flaring bright red. Even if she’s not wrong. I am hoping to—I can’t bring myself to even think it—take our relationship to the next level physically, but I knowI can’t do what she’s suggesting. “You can’t just say things like that!”

She shrugs. “Why not? It’s the truth, right?” She strides into my closet and goes right to the set of drawers, yanking open the first one and scooping out all of my laciest, raciest underwear. It’s literally the one portion of my wardrobe my father hasn’t said anything about, so it’s the one part of my wardrobe that is entirely up to me. And I love lacy little bra and panty sets. Wearing matching underwear makes me feel strangely powerful.

And I need that in my life.

I stand there in shock as she swipes the slacks and silk button ups and cardigans from my hands and plops the entire mess of lace in my arms instead. Then she gently pushes me back toward the bedroom. “Pack that shit up. I’ll put these away and scour for anything else that’s remotely something you would have picked for yourself. Ooo, cashmere.” She rubs her cheek on the soft fabric, then adds it back to the pile in my arms. “That too. Go on.”

I stumble back away from her, knowing that I can’t argue with her. But I also can’t only bring lingerie. Right? Right? They’ll expect me to go out at some point, leave the house with them. What am I going to do? Wear panties and a trench coat?

Actually… that’s not such a bad idea. I imagine sitting next to Hale during dinner, him knowing I have nothing on under my coat by scraps of silk and lace. Would he be able to keep his hands off me? Or would he slide that big palm of his onto my leg under the table, tease me through dinner, make me so wet I leave a puddle-

“Jesus, Haves.” My best friend’s exasperated voice has me blinking out of the fantasy. They’ve been happening more and more recently. Sex dreams too. I wake up sweating and aching. “Your clothes are literally the worst.”

She emerges from the closet carrying a couple tank tops I wear under any of my shirts that might be too sheer for public consumption, a pair of dark wash jeans, the only pair I own, purchased when my father made me sign up for a park cleanup, which I actually loved. That’s it. That’s all she has.

She pauses when she finds me standing by the bed, the lingerie still in my hands. “You gonna pack those or what?”

Cheeks flaming red—again—I shove the fabric into my bag, not being careful in the slightest. Not bothering to tell her there’s enough here to last me a month, not the week I’m going to be with them. I’m not sure I can speak right now, I’m so fucking embarrassed Ren caught me mid sexual fantasy.

Brow arched, she thrusts the other clothing items at me. “Here.” I take them from her and shove them on top of the panties. “It’s a good thing I’m such a good friend and brought you your birthday present early.”

My gaze flies to her, finding her hefting the backpack she came in with onto the bed next to me. “What?”

She shrugs, tucks her hair behind her ears and smiles. “Please, I know you have nothing suitable for packing up. All your clothes are…” she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “I just thought this would help you be more comfortable. More yourself. And they’re all new. None of it is from my closet. Mom and Ginny helped pick some of it out. They even helped me design a few pieces for you.”

She nudges the bag closer to me. I don’t move to open it. I know whatever I find in there is going to be perfect and so very me. Instead, I turn toward Ren and pull her in for a hug. A long one. She wraps me up just as tight. The faint hibiscus and citrus scent on her skin flowing into my lungs and soothing me. It always does.

Her hand strokes down the back of my head as I curl my fingers into her shirt. I don’t know what I would do without thisgirl, without her family, who has welcomed me into their life and their arms, even knowing who my father is. They don’t hold it against me. They never have.

After a moment, Ren pulls back. “Open your gift, Haves.”

I swipe at the moisture on my cheeks and let out a shaky little breath as I reach for the backpack. Inside I find stacks of clothing, all made from butter soft fabric, all things I would pick for myself given the chance. None of the brands are as high end as I normally wear, but that’s never mattered to me. There are leggings and fuzzy socks, sweaters and sweatshirts, a few floaty dresses in pastel colors I never get to wear unless it’s Easter, a pair of jeans that feel worn in, but that I know are new from the tags. And at the very bottom, a pair of sky blue velvet high-top Converse.

“Ginny?” I ask, setting them next to the stack of new clothes.

“Of course.” Ren laughs. “She saw them on the clearance rack and swore you had to have them. Don’t know how practical they’ll be, seeing as it’s autumn and about to get really wet, but,” she shrugs. “She was right about youneedingthem.”

“She was. They’re perfect.”

We spend the next few minutes popping off the tags and pack them on top of the rest of my clothes.

When we’re finished, I retreat to the bathroom to gather my toiletries and Ren flops onto her back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, a thoughtful furrow between her brows. She’s got that look on her face that I recognize as her debating whether she should say something.

“Just say it,” I urge, dropping my hairbrush into my suitcase.

“Maybe you should tell them… about the commands. The barks.”

All the blood drains from my head so rapidly that I sway, suddenly lightheaded. I catch myself on a post on my bed before I can stumble. Ren twists her head to look at me. “Nevermind, that was obviously a bad idea.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not. It makes sense for them to know but… Ren, you’re not even supposed to know about them. No one is. The idea of telling them-” I cut off as a throb of pain shudders through my forehead. “Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut to block out the light that is suddenly too bright.

I hear Ren slide off the bed, head to the bathroom. Running water. A moment later, she’s in front of me. “Open.” I do. Two pills land on my tongue. “Drink.” Cool water washes them down my throat. There’s the clink of the glass being set down and then her fingers are at my temples, rubbing gentle circles.

This isn’t the first migraine Ren has helped me battle. Not the first command I’ve considered breaking—or trying to—with her present, so she knows exactly what to do, what helps.

Thank god for that too, because the last thing I want is to have to delay my escape because I’m suffering from a headache. More than a headache. The migraines can be debilitating, and worse, they’re a clear sign to my father that I’ve tried to work around one of his commands.

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