Page 58 of Brash for It
Oh.My.God.
Heat rushes up my face.I tilt my head, tug at my collar, but it’s useless — it’s there, loud and obvious.And I didn’t even notice when I left the house.I know I asked for it.We talked about it.I don’t know how I forgot about it as I readied for the day.But then again, hot man kissing me senseless had me distracted.
“Knew it,” a voice sings from the hallway.
I snap my head up.It’s Lana.Of course it’s Tessa.She saunters out of one of the treatment rooms with a smirk, auburn bun wobbling, red nails tapping the doorframe.
“Knew what?”I ask, voice higher than I’d like.
She gestures at her own neck with a flourish.“That Kellum finally broke his saint act.He leave you that little love bite?”
My stomach does a weird flip.I want to deny it.I want to say something clever.Instead, I sputter.
“Not your business.”
Her smirk widens.“Sure, Kristen.Sure.”She breezes past me toward the staff lounge.“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.He’s addictive.Best you’ll ever have.Just don’t be a fool and expect him to keep you.He never keeps anyone.”
The words sting, sharper than I want to admit.She disappears around the corner, leaving me clutching my collar and burning red.
I want to be angry.I want to tell myself she’s just bitter, that she’s trying to get in my head.But part of me still feels small — like I’ve been caught playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
Before I can spiral, the doorbell chimes.I look up to see a delivery guy carrying a huge glass vase, stems of roses spilling over the top.
“Delivery for Kristen,” he says, reading off a slip.
My heart stutters because the flowers are stunning.“For me?”
He sets them on the desk.“All yours.”
I thank him, fumbling, and as soon as he leaves I tug the little white card out of the arrangement.
Two words, written in Kellum’s rough, heavy hand:
Mine.K
My breath catches.The sting from Lana’s comment evaporates like it never existed.My smile stretches so wide it almost hurts.I set the flowers right on the counter where everyone can see them.The card though, I put it in my pocket, keeping it close.
The rest of the morning, I can’t stop touching the card, running my finger over the ink like it’s proof.A few months ago, I was disposable.Today, I’mhis.
And I’ve never had a better day.
I float.
There’s no other word for it.The roses sit like a red sunrise on the counter.The little white card tucked at the perfect angle in my back pocket where I can touch it easily and remember the words.
Mine.–K.
It’s ridiculous how one word can take all the knots in my chest and turn them into fluttering butterflies.
Trina clocks the vase the second she comes out with a stack of fresh linens.Her eyebrows do a graceful climb.“Oho.Someone finally admitted what the whole street already knew.”She leans in and looks for the card then looks at me over the rim of her glasses.“You look like someone watered your soul.They from Pretty Boy?”
“Don’t,” I say, trying for blasé and failing utterly.My smile is an ungovernable animal.“It’s just a nice gesture.”
“‘Just nice,’” she mimics, smirking.“Please.That is the kind of ‘nice’ that gets a woman through a thirty-minute hold with the bridal party from hell.”She taps the vase.“Put it on the far end so the acetone doesn’t waft over here to them.”
I slide the arrangement down the counter, guarding the card like a dragon with a single coin.As I straighten, I catch movement and—of course—Lana glides in from the back, her facial done, bun messy and perfect at the same time, nails a weaponized red.
She stops.Looks at the roses.Then at me.Then, pointedly, at my neck.
