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To every woman who’s ever been told to “smile more.” Fuck that. Do what you want.
Liyah Medina liked this
If I ruined my brand-new Stella Alonso dress over this, I’d kill him, bring him back to clean up the mess, then kill him again.
“Technically, you are an intruder, but a very beautiful one. If you wanted to join me in bed, you only had to say so. No need to go to all this trouble.”
Nothing brightened my day more than riling Sloane up. She was so predictable in her responses and so spectacular in her anger, and I loved seeing her ice-queen façade melt long enough to reveal a glimpse of the real person underneath. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, I added it to the mental drawer where I collected all things Sloane.
Objectively, Sloane was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met. Blue eyes, long legs, symmetrical face…Michelangelo himself couldn’t have sculpted a better female form.
She’d obviously dressed with the intention of blending in, but she could no more blend into a crowd than a jewel could blend into mud.
“Just shut up and follow me,” I snapped, wishing I had a wittier reply. “Yes, ma’am.” His cheeks dimpled. “I love a woman in charge.”
“Sometimes,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. “But I’m good at doing nothing, so I stick to it. It’s better than fucking things up.”
“You don’t know how I taste.” His smile took on a decidedly more wicked slant. “Not yet.”
More than anything, I wanted that truth and, by extension, the trust that came with it. Let me in, Luna.
“It’s your father,” she said, her eyes sober for the first time since she showed up at the club. “He’s taken a turn for the worse. They don’t know if he’ll make it through the night.”
Regular families buried the dead and grieved. Families like mine had to issue press statements.
