Page 212 of When We Fall: Part Two
“Whoa,” Trent added, sitting forward.
“You said to dress nice.” I twisted my fingers nervously in front of me. “I-I have maybe some leggings that are nice and a sweater?—,”
“Fuck no. Hold on a second. I can’t wear this.” Ryder moved past me and went into Anson’s room. They were pretty much the same size, so I assumed he was going to borrow something from Anson’s closet.
“Don’t let my brother see you wearing that,” Trent said, his blue eyes skirting up my body.
I frowned. “Why?”
Trent scoffed. “Seriously? Rosalie, he’ll die. The guy lives and breathes for you.”
“He’s getting married, Trent.” I sat on the couch.
“So? Married doesn’t mean dead.”
“It does if you’re Anson.” I smiled, appreciating his loyalty. Bianca was lucky. Her kings were good guys, too. She had it all, even a growing family. In a way, I was a little jealous of her.
Trent rolled his eyes. “Listen. Go out and have some fun.”
“Why don’t you come with us?” I asked.
He smiled. “I think I’ll hang back. I have a feeling this is going to take a fun turn. And to be honest, I like a little chaos.”
“Do you want me to bring you back something to eat?”
“Cheesecake,” he said immediately. “I love cheesecake.”
“Me too.” I gave him a genuine smile.
“Birds of a feather.” He laughed as Ryder came out dressed in a pair of dress pants and a black button-down.
“You look good,” I said, standing.
He grinned. “Thanks. I didn’t want to look like a bum standing next to you.”
I chuckled at that and shook my head.
“Come on.” Ryder gestured for me to follow him.
“Wait!” Trent shot out of his seat with his phone in his hand. “Picture.” He gestured for us to stand next to each other.
“Um, OK.” I shuffled over to Ryder, who put his arm around my waist and put me against his body.
“Make it look real. I’m putting this on your social media,” Ryder said.
“What?” I looked up at him at the same time Trent took the photo.
“Sent it to you,” Trent said to Ryder.
“Let’s go.” Ryder led me out of the apartment and down the stairs. Once we were outside, he held his hand out to me. “Give me your phone.”
Anson had brought me a new phone even though I told him I didn’t want one. He said he needed to be able to reach out to me, so I accepted the gift.
I dug into my clutch and handed him my phone, and watched as he sent me a text of the photo we took, then uploaded it to my Instagram.
“What are you doing?” I asked, as he captioned it ‘date night’ and tagged himself.
“Being a petty little bitch,” he said, handing my phone back. “Don’t delete it, either. It’s helping me out too.”
