Page 43 of Darcy
“Oh no,” Dodger snorts, a predatory glint entering his eyes. “She just said sex is on the table. Why the fuck would any of us share when we could have our own sexy Darcy to cuddle up with?”
He grabs the crystal fruit bowl and dumps the handful of fresh fruit out onto the low coffee table before righting it. Next, he digs into his pocket and fishes out a set of… car keys?
They hit the bottom of the bowl with a dull clunk, and he hands it over to Arlo.
“Darcy can bunk with whoever’s keys she chooses.”
“This is immature,” Arlo mutters, but he’s already patting his own pockets, searching for keys. “What if she wants to choose?”
“Do you have a preference?” Dodger asks me, brow raised.
He knows I don’t. I shake my head, my tongue flicking out to moisten my lips. “No. This is good. There are no favourites this way.”
Arlo deposits his own keys into the bowl as soon as I’ve given my approval, and a second later Slate drops his in as well.
I eye the basin warily, gnawing at my lip. I don’t expect Prophet’s to soar over my head and into the mix, so when they thunk against the crystal, I jump a little in response.
Whirling, I pin him in place with my gaze. What is his game? Is he just trying to give me whiplash? To his credit, he doesn’t flinch away from my stare.
Then he does the single most perplexing move available to the male half of the human race.
He shrugs.
What does thatmean?
Slate catches my attention with a light cough. “Time to choose,bebita.”
Fifteen
Dodger
The room is silent as she digs her hand into the bowl. My nose is throbbing, and my eyes keep fucking watering, which doesn’t make it easy to see what she’s up to.
I wonder if she knows that there are several hundred grand’s worth of cars represented in that bowl. If she does, it doesn’t show on her face as she lifts free…
Mine.
The breath whooshes from my lungs as I behold the keys to my GT Black Series dangling from between her thumb and forefinger.
God bless that car. Best investment I ever made.
Shit. Most anticipated night of my life, and my face feels like it’s gone three rounds with a hammer. Fucking Miguel.
Darcy looks at Arlo first, watches him shake his head, then back to Slate.
“You lucky bastard,” he mutters.
The closing of the door behind her is Prophet’s only response.
“See you in the morning,” Arlo mumbles, standing.
He pauses, like he’s wondering whether he should wish her a good night or offer her an out, but I already know that Darcy won’t take it. She’s curious. She wants to know if the chemistry we have on voice chat sparks just as fiercely in real life.
So do I.
She was so close to letting me kiss her underneath the stage. I know she was.
I shove out of my seat and offer her my hand. Being Darcy, she deliberately misunderstands me and places the key in my outstretched palm instead. Undeterred, I pocket it and stick my hand out again.
