“What the?” I pull back just enough.
“Did you just really say that?” Marley’s voice curls over the parking lot. “I’m the fucking slut? I’m not the one who wrapped herself around anything with a hole in it!”
He steps into her face with marked agitation. “It was two fucking girls!”
Shit. I step lively as I head over in an effort to deliver a preemptive strike should the idiot in the ascot try to assault her.
“You still here?” I nod over at her as I grip the handle to the entry. “Hey do you need a ride?”
“Yes.” Marley digs her fists into her hips, her head jutting out as if she’s suddenly shifted her anger toward me. She’s feisty and my dick and I both approve. “I will totally need a ride.” She huffs incredulously as if ride were code for some new hallucinogen. It’s not, is it? I’m just five years down the road post my MBA, and already I feel dated. How the hell did that happen? I used to run VD hovels like the Black Bear, and, now, I’ve been relegated to narc.
Marley wraps her arms around herself and shivers while shooting daggers at the idiot in front of her—the idiot who fucked “two” girls. I’m guessing he’s an ex or soon to be one. Marley is a goddess with or without sexed up heels. Some morons don’t know how good they’ve got it—or, in his case, had it.
I remove my jacket and take a moment to dust the snow from her shoulders before draping it over her.
She lets out a choking moan as she settles into it. “Oh, thank you.”
My boxers twitch with the sound of her approving groan. I’ll have to memorize that sound for the shower later. Marley has already gotten under my skin in the worst way. I swallow hard as I wrap an arm around her shoulder. This is either the part where she employs a self-defense move, or we walk to the car while the moron balls his fists in a rage.
Marley twists her juicy red lips in approval as she looks up with a sweeping glance.
“Let’s get out of here, Wade.” She bats her lashes. Her tongue does a quick revolution over her lips. It’s pretty clear this is all for show, but I can’t help but shed a wicked grin at the vixen she’s just transformed into. This is the exact girl I was hoping to find at the end of that curled finger.
I lean in and whisper, “It’s Wyatt.”
“Who’s this freaking Wade guy?” The douche in the ascot gesticulates as if he’s having a seizure. He’s tall, stringy, elongated features. I’d look into Marfans Syndrome if I were him.
“It’s Wyatt!” she barks back. “You can’t even pay attention to a damn thing I say!” Her entire body lurches, and I hold her to me just a touch to keep her from launching at the guy. I may not be affiliated with the Hollow Brook PD, but I can tell the gesticulating idiot will have no problem filing assault charges just to tick her off, or, more to the point, teach her a lesson. He looks like the type of idiot that assumes the world owes him.
“We’re together! We’ve been fucking for months!” She chokes out the words, leaving both the douche and me equally stunned. “That’s right.” Marley glances up with those watery eyes. “Wyatt has been helping me with my article. God knows you weren’t going to bother assisting me when I needed it most. I bought velvet handcuffs for you!” She riots in his face.
“And we’ve been enjoying them.” I pull her back before the assault scenario becomes a reality. “Let’s get going, sweetie. I’ve got a bedpost to leash you to before the night is through.”
Her mouth drops open as she gapes at me.
I give a little shrug. I may have pushed it a little too far—her lips curl up as she gives an approving blink with those big, blue doe eyes—or maybe not.
“Geez!” The douche grips his hair at the temples. “I can’t believe you’re fucking this guy! He’s like fucking fifty!”
“I’m not fifty.” Thirty. I’m fucking thirty.
“Shut up!” he roars before reverting his roid-rage back at Marley. “That’s fucking disgusting! And with whips and chains? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. I blame that stupid article. It’s turned you into someone I don’t even recognize.” His hands ride up a few inches too close to her body as he smirks disapprovingly at her dress. That expression on his preppy face says I want to vomit on your shoes.
“You’re just jealous,” she snipes. “Face it—you’ve come back to grovel because you realize what an idiot move it was to wrap yourself around every girl that blinked your way. You couldn’t hold it in your pants, and now you have to pay the price!”