Page 118 of Pretty Broken Wings
I stop in my tracks. The clothes fit his muscled form perfectly and bring out the lightness of his eyelashes and hair, giving them a frosted look.
Fuck. He looks stunning. And I’m underdressed.
Gage must hear me ‘cause he turns. “Ready?” The question is gruff.
“I uh… I need to change.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
I glance down at my pleated skirt and pantyhose. It’s nothing fancy, just the same stuff I’ve been wearing. “I didn’t realize it was fancy.” My face burns.
“You’re fine.” Gage motions at me.
“I’ll just go–”
“Raven,” his voice softens. “If you’re wearing what you usually wear, then you look amazing.”
My face burns. Was that… Did he just…?
Then Gage turns on his heel and heads toward the door. I scurry after, trying not to look at the way his ass fills out his dress pants.
By the time we get to the car, Gage opens the driver’s door for me.
I hesitate, looking at his slightly tense body language.
Whatever. I’ll be fine, right? I’m driving. It’s not like I’m driving us to murder central. If I don’t like it, I can just turn around.
Unless he has a weapon.
I’ll wreck us both into a tree if he does.
“You okay?” Gage asks softly.
“Uh, yeah.” I silently slide into the car. He shuts the door softly behind me and then goes around to the other side.
My hands are sweating.
Gage gives me directions on the way to the bookstore. It’s awkward. I’m expecting some knife to come out and for him to gut me. Dead bitches can’t be snitches.
But then why did he get dressed up? Plus, he hasn’t looked at me once on the trip. He grips his thigh again like his life depends on it, and I wonder if he’ll bruise.
I should have brought my bat.
“Cold today,” Gage says, breaking me out of my spiral.
“Yeah,” I say. The sky is the kind of pale blue only winter can bring. It’s not unlike the color of Gage’s eyes.
When we get to the store, it looks like a normal store. No murder vibes. Plus, it’s in the middle of town, and there are people around. I suck in a breath.
The parking is on the street. Gage heaves out of the car like he’s on fire. He moves around the front, tracing a hand along the hood to my side.
I open the door before he can get there.
“I got it,” Gage says.
I stand up beside him, having to brush past his form to get out of the car. “It’s fine.”
Gage grabs my arm gently, pulling me back and away from the street. “Careful.”
