“Uh oh,” I whisper, hearing Juls’ and Joey’s muffled laughs next to me. My eyes widen as Reese makes his way down the stairs, walking between Ian and Billy who both stand. I step to my left and slide behind my very tall assistant, concealing my inappropriate outfit. Like that will do me any good. One, he’s already seen it, and two, it’s Reese; nothing stands in his way of me.
Joey steps aside and looks over at me with raised eyebrows. “Are you nuts? He’ll chuck me across the street to get to you.”
I open my mouth to argue but close it when I realize he’s probably right.
“You four look like you’ve had a nice time. I think Brooke wins for most drunk,” Ian says with a teasing tone, crooking his finger and motioning for Juls to come to him. Juls immediately begins walking as Brooke moves past her and practically trips up the stairs, laughing in the process.
Joey leans over and kisses the top of my head. “Good luck, cupcake.” He moves away from me and grabs Billy’s hand. Billy winks at me over his shoulder before leaning in and kissing Joey.
“Oh, thanks a lot. Way to stick with your fellow woman,” I yell out, seeing everyone turn and laugh at me as Reese stops inches away. I can practically feel the irritation boiling off him, radiating in waves directly onto me. I customarily tug the hem of my dress down, knowing full well it won’t do me any good now, and then I look at him, all 6 foot 3 inches of him. He’s so hot when he’s angry that I momentarily consider wearing dresses like this daily, consequences be damned. This look is worth it. I’m certain there is no other man who can command attention the way Reese does, especially when he’s pissed. I glance up at him from underneath my lashes, connecting briefly with his eyes before dropping my gaze and letting it take in his casual-yet-ridiculously-sexy polo shirt and khakis. “Hi. You look nice.”
Understatement of the century. Reese has probably never looked nice a day in his life.
He steps into me, flattening my body against the limo and letting me know that even though he’s about to freak the hell out on me for my dress selection, because that’s what he does, he can’t deny the way I affect him. I let out a soft gasp as he presses his lips to my temple. “What the fuck are you wearing, Dylan?”
“Uh, a dress. You never labeled this one.”
“That’s because I never fucking saw it,” he growls. “Did you really think I’d be okay with you wearing this out tonight? This shit barely covers you.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him against me tighter. Harder. Wanting to feel the desire that is betraying his anger right now. It really is the only thing saving me from a Reese-style flip-out. Besides, I’d much rather get fucked in the traditional sense as opposed to verbally. If I can get my hands on an advantage here, I’m taking it.
I tilt my head up, my drunken smile spreading across my face. “I think you’re very okay with me wearing this right now, handsome. Your massive and very-loved boner is giving you away. And just so you know, I’m not attached to this dress, so feel free to rip it apart.” I slide my hand down between us, stroking him through his pants.
He grabs my hand and halts me, pinning it against my body. “No playing for you tonight, love. Not after this stunt.” He bends down and lifts me, throwing me over his shoulder while keeping one hand on my ass; no doubt to make sure it remains covered.