I sling the skinny strap of my purse across my body and join the flow of Saturday afternoon shoppers. New York is unlike any other city in the world, and SoHo might be my favorite neighborhood in my favorite city. Narrow shops and cobblestone streets. It brings out the girly-girl in me, and I indulge that lucky bitch with pretty underwear.
Inside, Agent Provocateur is glossy black lacquer and sparkling crystal chandeliers. A sea of silk and lace. Black ribbons and satin cups. It oozes feminine power and celebrates all things sexy.
My private collection of lingerie is one step in the direction of claiming more of that attitude for myself.
One day soon, I’m going to be this woman.
I sigh. Maybe not soon. I have to keep my head down until I’m done school and can leave Washington. Leave the toxic world of my parents behind and just be myself.
Be Alison, girl with silk panties. Girl with an easy, breezy attitude toward sex and men and life.
“Can I help you?” A smiling salesgirl approaches, and I’m glad I dressed up. I look the part of the rich socialite, and all afternoon I’ve been getting that treatment. Not normally something I care about one way or the other—and if pushed, I lean toward other. Because seriously, being rich just gives people the excuse to be depraved f*ck
s.
And then have children, and ruin their lives with the depravity.
I shudder inside.
But on the outside, I just smile at the salesgirl. “I’m going to look around a bit. First time in a while since I’ve been in the store.”
First time since all the weird shit went down with my sister last year. Now I can’t just get on the train and come to New York for the weekend. Now when I suggest a girls’ trip, it’s a full-on thing, complete with Scott tagging along if Cole is busy.
We made that mistake once in the fall. Ugh. Totally un-fun, although it did beat a totally awkward family Thanksgiving.
This trip wasn’t my idea, even though it’s my birthday weekend. But Hailey’s got a gleam in her eye about a wedding dress, which means Cole’s finally won their non-stop battle over whether or not to get married.
Well, not that there’s a battle over getting married. Just a battle over the actual “getting hitched” moment. As in, Hailey doesn’t want a wedding. Not one our mother can ruin.
So I bet they’ll elope, which is totally fine.
After all the shit she’s been through, Hailey deserves to be happy.
And if she wants to buy a non-wedding dress for a secret wedding that she’s not telling me about just yet, I’ll suck up a totally un-fun trip to the big city.
After all, when I get bored, I can always ditch the bodyguard and sneak into a lingerie shop.
I smirk to myself—which of course is when karma decides to punish me.
“Something funny, Miss Reid?”
Damn it. I sigh and roll my eyes to the sparkly chandelier, keeping my back to Scott. My sister’s bodyguard. My secret crush. My totally off-limits, no-fun babysitter for the weekend, apparently, since he’s followed me, and not for any fun, dirty reasons. “How did you find me? Do I have a tracking device implanted under my skin?”
Scott laughs quietly and circles around the display until I’ve got a face full of cotton dress shirt and black suit jacket. Both fitted and stretched across strong shoulders.
A wide chest.
Probably a hard set of abs, but I’ve never gotten close enough to test that theory.
I don’t look up at his face. Instead, I pretend to look at the panties on the far side of the table, right in front of his hips.
His package is pretty substantial, too. Definitely stretching the fabric there.
I blush, but I don’t duck my head further.
I’m totally fine with Scott knowing that I’m thinking about his cock.
He’s not fine with it, but that’s his problem.
He clears his throat and crosses his arms, swinging a collection of our shopping bags in front of his body to hide what I hope is a monster reaction to me. “Your sister suggested I might find you in here.”
“And you left Hailey alone to come find me?”
“Cole showed up. Turns out he had business in the city after all.”
Of course he did. Which meant that our girls’ weekend just turned into me being a third-wheel on a romantic getaway.
f*ck
.
“Then I might head back to D.C.” I say quietly. I’m not trying to hide the fact I’m disappointed. It’s my birthday. I can be f*ck
ing disappointed if I want.
I can swear like a f*ck
ing sailor and pretend I’m not a Dean’s List, finishing-school Good Girl, because it’s my twentieth birthday and I can’t even buy lingerie without my sister’s drama intruding.
And since that drama won’t let me check him out… yeah, I’m pouting.
“You can head home. If you want.” His voice is…is…
I jerk my eyes up to his face.