Page 87 of Roses Are Dead
“Grumpy Bear.”
We’d taken to calling each other those nicknames in private. Public displays were an entirely different story.
He chewed his lip. “Black dress with that lace up shit.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“The long one or the short one?”
His grin deepened. “Short.”
I was going to freeze. “Are we going out or…?”
“We’re going out. Oh, hang on… Betty Jo sent something up.” He disappeared into the garage and returned with a garment bag.
This man and his presents. I’d never be able to pay him back for everything. Luckily, Skinner gave me my laptop back. I’d applied for four jobs in the last two days alone. And Regina hooked me up with an interview at a clinic. It was only part time, but work was work. I wouldn’t turn any offer down at this point.
I took the bag from him and the unexpected weight almost tore my arm off. “What in the hell?” I unzipped it as Bear rocked in place with giddy impatience.
As soon as I saw the embossed knot-work and scrolling dragon heads, I gasped. “You really shouldn’t have.” This was the coat Betty Jo tried to thrust upon me that first week. I’d snuck a peek at the price tag as she dug out a corset. It started with a two and had three more numbers behind it. “I can’t accept this.”
“Too bad. I already did. Black dress, lace up thing that makes your tits rock harder than a heavy metal concert, and this. Five minutes.”
“I can’t get ready in five minutes.”
“Woman.”
I glared at him but ran up the stairs with a huff or twenty. “Bossy son of b?—”
“I can hear you, witch!”
The laces were difficult to get even in such a short time. I struggled to tug each one into place. “A toad. I will turn him into a toad.”
He snuck up behind me. “I’d be a well-hung toad. You know, the horny kind.” He moved my hair and kissed my neck.
“Do you really want me ready in five minutes?” I glanced at him through the mirror we stood in front of.
He met my eyes. The hunger in them made me smile and quirk an eyebrow at him.
His fingers squeezed my waist. “I made reservations.”
“Eight. And no more neck.”
Bear growled as I slipped out of his grasp. After tying the dress on, I rushed through applying mascara, nearly blinding myself in the process, and barely swept on some lip gloss before he handed me a pair of sky-high heels that were better suited for starring in an adult film than a night out.
“I can’t walk in those.”
He grinned. “Try. Please?”
“I’ll put them on downstairs. You don’t want me breaking my ankle on the stairs, do you?”
He was too busy ogling my ass to understand the question I’d lobbed at him.
I rushed down the steps to avoid his grabby hands and quickly slipped the shoes on. Then grabbed the wall because, holy shit they were too fucking steep. “Who’d you get these from, a stripper?”
“Naw, Shauna loaned ’em to me.”
“Who’s Shauna?” I’d met a few of the old ladies by this point, and even fewer of the strippers his brothers collected like trophies. I had a sneaking suspicion she was one of the hookers who rotated through the three rooms upstairs.
“The dark-haired one with big eyes.” He held his hand out to indicate her height.
