Wild(81)

            My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles ached. I was a fool to ever think we would have a conversation of substance. “Yes. I understand.”

            A few more empty words were exchanged and the call ended. A frustrated scream welled up from my lips. I tossed the phone down on the futon, watched as it bounced twice and then clattered to the floor. Like it was some living thing trying to get away from me.

            She’d never understand. She didn’t want to. I’d be what she wanted or I could kiss good-bye her support. Financially. Emotionally. If I wanted her love and approval, I had to live the life of her choosing.

            I pressed my knuckles to the backs of my suddenly aching eyes. I hated her right then . . . hated myself because I let her do this to me.

            It was like Logan had said. I was buried away in my closet. Too afraid to let myself go. Well. Except for when I was with him. I’d embraced my wild nature then, shutting off the voice in my head that sounded a lot like Mom, warning me to be sensible, good, well-behaved, and dignified.

            I hated that voice. I hated that me.

            A sudden burn started in my gut. I scrambled for my phone. Hanging half my body off the futon, I snatched it from the floor and texted Annie. I hadn’t forgotten what night it was or her offer.

            My fingers flew over the keys, punching in just a few words, making certain the sensible Georgia that Mom insisted be home by August third was gone. At least for tonight anyway.

            Me: Hey, A. Can I still come with you tonight???





            Chapter 18

            ANNIE HADN’T BEEN KIDDING. Pillared and eggshell white with a wide veranda that faced an infinite stretch of green lawn, the house was something out of Better Homes and Gardens. Jasmine crawled over the porch, and flowerpots brimming with colorful buds swayed in the evening breeze. It was elegance bordering on decadence. The kind of place I imagined Ina Garten hosting one of her cooking shows.

            All the houses on the street sat on big lots, promising a semblance of privacy. Several cars were already parked in the large horseshoe drive. Annie parked on the street and we walked past the parked vehicles, our heels clicking in unison. I couldn’t stop myself from scanning for Logan’s Bronco. I didn’t see it, but I also didn’t know what Rachel drove.

            At the front door, Annie pushed the bell, sliding me an approving glance. “You look hot.”

            “Thanks. So do you.”

            “Damn right. This is my night.”

            I smoothed a shaking hand down the skirt of my snug dress. After Annie told me what she would be wearing, I’d decided to dress up, too. As tempting as it had been to wear basic black, I had reached for the bright blue dress in the back of my closet. I’d bought it a year and a half ago to wear to a dinner that Harris insisted I attend with his parents. I probably weighed five pounds less then so it hugged me like a second skin now. Even if it wasn’t so tight, it would be hard to fade into the background in the peacock blue.

            I had vowed that the Georgia my mother had worked so hard to create . . . the only Georgia she would accept and tolerate . . . be nowhere in evidence tonight.

            “Annnnnie, looking hot!” The guy who opened the door for us was familiar from the last kink club. His hair was shaved on one side and the other side of his scalp sported long, slicked-back hair. He wore glossy pink lip gloss a shade close to my own.

            He pressed a quick kiss to each of our cheeks. “Well, bitches. What do you think?” He motioned widely to the foyer with beringed fingers.

            “Beautiful,” I murmured, looking up at the domed ceiling in awe.

            “Yeah, I thought you were bullshitting about hosting this month in a twelve-bedroom mansion, but I stand corrected, Andy.”