Page 95 of Chasing Lyric
“Got it!”
I want to make sure she does, in fact, get it. “Do you need to write it down or something?”
She and Dax both snap their heads to me, Dax grimacing like I’m a fucking idiot.
Mary-Beth glares at me like I am the devil incarnate. “I didn’t get this job bynotbeing able to do it properly, Mr. Covington. If you took the time to get to know your employees as Dax does, then you’d know I’m the best damn secretary in this company.”
I open my eyes wide, and he dips his head like he knewthatwas coming.
“My apologies,” I offer sincerely.
“I’ll get what you need, but Dax, you gotta do that thing you do for me… as a payment,” she requests.
I tilt my head at Dax questionably this time.
He tenses like he’s embarrassed, but he dips his chin. “Deal. Only if once the gift basket is ready, you deliver it as well.”
“Yeah, sure,” she agrees.
He stands and places his hand out. Dax brings her hand to his lips, and he kisses the back of it. Her entire body relaxes at his touch. Mary-Beth takes a deep breath, then grabs her handbag, stands, and turns, walking off without another word.
I slowly spin, glancing at Dax, and he knows exactly what I’m thinking, letting out a groan. “Oh, fuck, don’t even start with me—”
“So, is it some kind of weird kink? I bet she likes dress-ups, right?” I tease.
He tilts his head like he’s thinking. “She probably does, but it’s not that.”
“Dax, tell me, what do you have to do? I mean, you’re doing it to help me, so I should at least know.”
“It’s nothing, honest—”
“I really think I should kno—”
“I really think you shouldn’t—”
“Dax!”
He exhales exasperatedly. “Fine! I have to lie on her bed wearing a unicorn onesie, singing Justin Bieber’s “Baby” to her while she cuddles her cat, Mr. Mittens.”
My brain tries to reject the mental image, but it barrels in anyway. Jesus Christ! Dax, all limbs and misplaced swagger, zipped into a glittery-ass unicorn onesie, crooning Bieber’s‘baby, baby, baby, oh’while some fluffy-ass feline stares on like royalty.
A snort punches out of me before I can stop it.
Then it snowballs.
The tension I’ve been carrying, the tight coil of rage in my gut, the shame, the heartbreak, the betrayal, it all starts to crack under the weight of this absolute fever dream. The pressure in my chest loosens. My shoulders shake, and I let out a choked wheeze that turns into a full-bodied laugh, one that hits deep in my core and catches me off guard.
Holy hell, I needed that.
I stumble back a step, my hand braced on the countertop as my laughter turns nearly breathless. “Unicorn… onesie?” I manage between gasps, like I’ve been gut-punched by comedy.
Dax scowls, wounded pride all over his face. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, fuck face. I’m risking dignity and potential glitter chafing for you.”
I lose it again. My hand shoots to my ribs, holding on as I double over, wheezing like I just sprinted five miles. “Glitter… chafing?” I cough out, nearly crying now. “You poor, sparkly bastard.”
“Do you know how much synthetic fur those damn things have?” he mutters, rubbing his forearm like the trauma’s still fresh. “It’s like wearing a disco ball with mange.”
I straighten, still laughing, swiping at my eyes while I shake my head. It’s absurd. It’s fucking stupid. And somehow, it’sexactlywhat I needed.
