Page 37 of Renegade Ruin

LEIGH: You aren’t wrong.

WILLOW: As long as it’s formal, whatever you wear will be perfect, I’m sure.

INDIE: I have the perfect dress for you, Wills.

WILLOW: We both know anything you fit in I won’t.

Where I am short, soft and all curves, Indie is a six-foot, African American goddess with the body to match.

INDIE: Oh contraire, my voluptuous bestie, this is one from a designer friend of mine and you are going to love it.

WILLOW: You really don’t have to do that.

INDIE: It’s already done. Think of it as an extra birthday gift.

WILLOW: NO GIFTS. How many times do I have to tell you guys I don’t need anything?

LEIGH: Every year until forever.

INDIE: Too bad. It’s already done.

WILLOW: I’m not sure if I should be excited or terrified.

LEIGH: Both. Definitely both.

INDIE: loooooooove yooooooou

WILLOW: Right back at ya. Now I need to get back to work.

INDIE: No, what you need to do is go find yourself a cabana boy and get laid. But work is cool too.

The thought of finding a random hookup makes my skin crawl. But I can’t deny that maybe Indie is right. Maybe it’s time I put myself back out there. Even if it’s only so I don’t have to wake up each morning after dreaming of Bishop and help myself with a battery powered boyfriend.

I shake my head and roll onto my back, soaking in the sun on all the bits I keep hidden behind my skirts and power suits. Setting my phone down, I close my eyes and turn my focus back to the list I’ve created, making a mental note to email it to Nikki, our PR coordinator, with strict instructions to keep it between us but look it over and let me know what she thinks.

It’s a lofty goal, but for the first time since taking over the Renegades, I feel like I’m finally on the right path. It’s a good feeling to have hope for the future.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BISHOP

I’m a mess.

Annoyed.

And sober.

The last one I could have rectified easily with a trip to the nearest liquor store, but there’s a part of me that wants to prove Willow wrong. Also, I made a promise to myself and Lana that I would do better. I only wish it wasn’t so fucking hard.

It's been a week, and her words still play over and over in my mind.

“You’ve changed,” I whispered, from between her legs, wiping her arousal from my chin.

She propped herself up and gave me a lopsided smile. “So have you.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“Don’t ask me to say the same.”

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