Chapter 14
Cook
I couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it had something to do with church a few days ago, but probably not. I didn’t sleep much before Maddie, but with her in my house, any more than a couple of hours of shuteye was impossible.
Tossing and turning failed to find a comfortable position, so I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling in the shadowy predawn hours. The song dogs were active tonight too, their wails echoing off the cliffs in the distance.
Listening intently, I counted three distinct coyote voices yipping and screeching in the night, and wondered what they were up to. They’d never been a danger to anyone in the Ridge, only our hill-dwelling noisy neighbors.
They probably loved us recently for leaving food for them in shallow graves.
A bit of goddamn symbiosis.
“Fuck it,” I whispered and kicked off the blankets, getting my ass out of bed.
After stumbling into the kitchen, I brewed a pot of coffee, not turning on the lights as I didn’t want to wake Maddie. She wouldn’t sleep with her door closed, so if I woke before her, I needed to be careful. Fortunately, I’d filled the drip pot with water before we’d gone to bed.
Holding a cup of Joe and my phone in one hand, I eased the door open and slipped out onto the porch. The freshly poured concrete had been swept yesterday and felt surprisingly smooth under my bare feet.
And cold.
Temperatures plummeted in the desert at night.
But the concrete took away the splintering wood deck that’d been there before. One more danger in this messy situation, eliminated.
One handed, I lifted a chair over to where I’d have a prime view of the sunrise. Sitting down, I eased my back against the cold metal and waited.
Sunrises in the Ridge were uniquely magical moments. The brightening of the eastern sky set the ruddy rocks to the west ablaze.
Something rustled nearby, followed by several soft yips and scampering paws. Perhaps the coyotes were closer than I’d imagined. I smiled, recalling one morning as a kid when I had to ride a tiny bike into town for school. One tailed me the whole way, stopping and turning sideways when I looked back.
The thick, dark coffee tasted bitter on my tongue, almost as good as Louie’s. Almost.
I tried to clear my mind as the sky turned from dark blue to blue gray. Problem was, there was a little woman in there that had lodged herself into every single one of my thoughts. I sighed and adjusted my dick in the loosely fitting pajama pants. The fucking thing wouldn’t leave me alone.
When the sun crept over the horizon, I glanced to the left then the red cliffs on my right, absorbing the new day. I rotated my head back toward the eastern horizon just as Maddie stepped out through the front door.
The light behind her painted a halo around her mussed copper hair, and she moved toward me.
“There’s coffee,” I told her, gesturing toward the door with my cup.
She scrunched up her face and moved closer, looking at me with sad eyes and a question.
Through the MC’s developing plans over the last week, we had kind of been acting like a married couple from the 1950s: me going to work while she tended to the house. Then, I would come home at night and grill something while she cooked up something to go with my meat.
The stupid, weird thing happened three days ago.
Maddie had been screaming in the middle of the night. It took me a solid minute of shaking her and calling her name to wake her up, and by then, her chest had been heaving as she gasped for breath.
I’d planted myself on the end of her bed, waiting for her to ease back into sleep when she crawled into my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck, and laid her head on my shoulder. She hadn’t said a word, but in the silence and how she clung to me, I’d heard it anyway.
Daddy.
Now, as I looked up at her, I could see the remnants of tears spiking her lashes. She didn’t scream this time, but the ghosts still drove her nightmares.
“Ah, hell,” I breathed and opened my arm.
Maddie folded herself into my lap, and I felt her muscles melt.
Fuck, I was in so much goddamn trouble.
When my cup ran dry, I nudged Maddie. “Go put on something nice.”
Her eyes stretched and tears pooled on the lower lids.
“What is it?” I brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.
“That’s what . . .” Her lower lip quivered. “. . . Signora told me before . . .”
I clamped my jaw shut, biting down until pain shot into my skull. “How ’bout this, then? Go make yourself pretty for me.”
A tear fell and I thumbed it away, but her eyes brightened.
Bou had given her some nicer things, but I didn’t know if they were Maddie’s style. Some of the clothes, while they fit her physically, looked all wrong. They didn’t move right with her form.
While she was getting ready, I found my clothes recently folded and put away. This girl was too good to me. I normally shook out my clothes but left them stacked in the basket. I picked a pair of jeans and a clean shirt.
Maddie came out of her bedroom wearing a dress I’d always hated on Bou, doing a little booty shake, and I almost creamed my pants. This one, Bou got just right for Maddie, and damn did I want her in a dress like that every single day.
To see her pert little ass shimmying under the flowing material.
Fuck.
My cock ached, so I quickly cleared my throat. “Let’s go.”
Maddie met me at the door. “Where are we going?”
“I have a surprise for you,” I said.
She smiled, nibbling nervously on her bottom lip. Why did she have to go and do that? Every part of riding on my motorcycle—especially her thighs clamping around my hips—was already going to be torturous.
She picked Bou’s old riding jacket out of the coat closet, and I opened the door. As she passed, I wondered what she wore beneath that dress. Would there only be a thin layer of lace or silk separating us?
On my bike, I sank down, and then she climbed on behind me. Her breasts pressed against my back. She snaked her arms over my rib cage, interlocking her fingers. Her chin rested against my shoulder. Every deep breath of hers brushed against my neck, slipping down my veins until my jeans were too tight against my cock and the pressure on my balls set my spine to tingling.
Focus on the ride, Cook. The lean. The destination.
We would be in Phoenix and in public, so I should be able to control my raging hard-on there.
I hoped.
Thankfully, the wind in my hair and Arizona highways kept me focused until I pulled up to a park holding an art festival. Maddie slipped off the bike, removing her helmet and brushing out her hair. I swung off my bike and hung her helmet from one of the handles as she looked around.
Maddie turned to me, her smile dimming. “You should’ve told me we were coming here.”
“Why?” I asked.
She reached down and tugged on the hem of her dress. “Because I wouldn’t have worn this.”
I stepped closer to her. “I like that. I wanted you to wear it.”
Immediately, a red flush covered her cheek, and she ducked her head. My heart sped up as I worried she might get on her knees here. I took her hand, pulling her toward the festival. She quickly came along, almost skipping.
“Show me what kind of art you like,” I said as we entered the festival.
Vendors lined either side of the sidewalk, more down across a park area. Their white tents kept out the relentless sun. The forms of the art were different, even down to the how people photographed from colors to sepia to monochrome. Maddie stopped at every tent that had photography, studying the artwork and style like others would study for a math test before we moved on.
I took a card from every vendor she gravitated toward, slipping it into my back pocket.
While she avoided several other forms of art, she marveled at the watercolor and charcoal art. She slid her fingers over several sculptures—the ones not under glass—and wooden carvings, like she wanted to learn how to craft those too.
I curled my fingers across hers, holding her back so she didn’t run from one vendor to another. But still, I gave her the option to choose which ones we visited. Her eyes sparkled with joy, lit up by the colors and the buzz around us.
A giggle erupted from Maddie’s mouth over something she particularly liked, but when I went to look at the price, she pulled me in another direction. I barely had enough time to slip another business card in my back pocket.
At the center of the park, we found several artists crouched over the sidewalk with a rainbow of various chalks. Hues splashed against the chosen canvas. Blue skies and red desert leaked from the chalks onto the tan cement.
“Cook, come see!” Maddie pulled on me.
I marched along behind her, unable to see what she looked at. She halted at the edge of a growing crowd.
One of the chalk artists was hunched over on the ground, nose near the pavement, stretching the eyes of a portrait of someone else in the crowd. Other artists had created landscapes and intricate abstract designs. A few more returned to their current works too, scraping the chalk across the sidewalk. Colors bled into one another, chalk flowers near blooming on top of each other and the desert and sea meeting halfway across a crack.
Suddenly, Maddie dropped my hand, and before I could grab her, she dropped to her knees. What the hell was she doing? She grabbed a piece of discarded chalk and started to draw. I stepped back and watched her scribbles blossom into a design.
Delicate like lace, she brushed the chalk across the pavement, then her strokes intensified until she was scratching so hard at the ground it seemed like she was tearing up a layer of concrete. The muscles in her arm and her back tensed.
She’d put on a little weight, but her elbow was still so pointed that it looked like it might tear through her skin. Her bare knees were pressed against the sidewalk, probably hard enough to leave bruises.
The bite of the sidewalk didn’t seem to bother her, so I let her work.
Already, her artwork was better than some of the other artists, both those who had drawn on the sidewalk too in chalk and those trying to sell their canvases.
Rocking on her knees, she looked down at her drawing. Her shoulders were slumped forward, her head bent. She looked stiff, like one of the molded statues we’d passed. I almost reached out to touch her, wondering what she was thinking about, but then I dropped my hand. I would pick her up and carry her back to my motorcycle, but then I finally looked at what she had drawn.
The darkened shadows swirled into abstract artwork with depth that sent a chill down my spine. The dead eyes of the darkened form stared straight into my soul. It struck me in the chest. I balled my hands into fists, glancing over my shoulder as though I’d catch someone sinister watching us.
Had anyone noticed her painfully personal artwork?
But the crowd only cooed over her skills.
Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Maddie looked back at me, a broad smile across her face. A thin sheen of sweat covered her brow from working that hard under the high sun. Her hands were covered in chalk. Some of the dust had come off on her dress. She was a fucking beautiful mess, and I didn’t want her in any other way.
“What?” Maddie asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I tried to school my features. “Do you want to see anything else?”
She eyed her surroundings and then shook her head no. I helped her to her feet, and she leaned on me. She was careful of her dirty hands on my shirt. Floral notes whispered under my nose, mixing with her natural scent.
We fell into step with our hands locked between us—like we were on a date.
Wasthis a date?
No, I told myself. I’m just holding on to her, so I don’t lose her in the crowd.
What a motherfucking lie.
Her naked arm brushed against my skin. We were both slick with sweat, but I was fighting off both the temperature and the heat climbing in my body.
The wind gusted and flipped up the hem of her dress, exposing more of her thighs. As I pushed it back down, I imagined tearing the dress from her body and exposing her. The image devolved until I could see her thighs clenching around my hips as I pounded into her.
I walked a little faster, as though I could outrun the horny asshole I was turning into. What was it Mercer had said? Other subs at Serenity needed a Dom too. I drove my free hand through my chin-length hair, needing to not be thinking about fucking at all.
Maddie stumbled after me, and I caught her before she fell, but I didn’t slow my pace afterward.
“What is it, Cook?” asked Maddie, looking over her shoulder. Concern crossed her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I found my motorcycle in a row of others that’d followed my lead in where to park.
If we could get to it, we could get out of here. I could focus on the highway and get lost in the long expanse of the highways and canyons. We could drive all afternoon to escape how my body was acting.
“Then what are we doing?” She whined. “I want to see more.”
I tightened my grip on her.
“Cook?” She tried to get me to look at her, but if I met her gaze, I would turn into a puddle.
We reached my motorcycle, but I wasn’t free. I didn’t think I’d ever be free again. I couldn’t control myself or run away. I pushed Maddie between me and my motorcycle and then kissed her deeply.
At first, her lips were clenched, but then I parted them with my tongue. I dragged her chin up, her hair tumbled back. Pushing my body against hers, I forced her down on the motorcycle until I was towering over her. My arms wrapped around her body, and she let out a soft moan that I felt all the way into my balls. I would need to work it out... somehow.
She deserved more than that, and my barriers were crumbling. I would give it all to her. Everything she wanted and needed and more.
I pulled back, and she gasped for breath. I took a deep breath, too, as if that would hold my need at bay.
“Should we go back to your house?” asked Maddie, standing again.
“No.”
It was too far away, but there was something here in Phoenix.
“Hop on,” I growled. This was probably a mistake, but I was done fighting it.
Maddie
I didn’t know where we were going, but I trusted Cook. Curling my arms tighter around him, I held on as he navigated the highways and then the downtown Phoenix streets. The sun was starting to set by the time Cook pulled into a district with brick buildings, metal stairs to front doors, and business signs painted on the brick interspersed with vibrant art.
My eyes lingered on a phoenix painted on the side of one building, then drifted to a skeleton man with a sugar skull on one knee. The figure held a rose up to a female skeleton, and I smiled at the thought.
Cook stopped the bike in front of a red brick building with only a small sign that read Serenity. A log set of metal stairs ran up to a second-floor entry.
“Where are we?” I asked, swinging my body off his motorcycle.
Like last time, vibrations ran through my body, the little tremors rushing up my bones. I ignored the sensations it drove into my core, because I’d grown certain Cook didn’t want me in that way.
It fucking hurt, but who could blame him? I was used goods. Spoiled by Signora.
Trash, by anyone’s standards.
“It’s a club.” Cook swung off his bike too, not looking at me.
A lump formed in my throat. “A club?” Visions of Enigma rooted me to the pavement.
He reached for my hand, but I pulled it behind my back.
“Maddie?” Cook stepped closer, towering over me. The uncertainty that seemed to twist his features disappeared, and he said, “You are safe with me. Always safe. Tell me you understand.”
Tension seeped away. “I understand.”
He reached up and ran the pad of his thumb over the small space between my brows. “Do you have a question?”
“This isn’t a club like Tommy G.’s?” I asked, casting my gaze downward.
“Fuck no,” he barked, and I jumped.
Cook pulled me into his arms and cradled the back of my head.
“No,” he said, softer now. “You’ll see.”
Stepping back, he gave me the space to choose by holding out his hand, and I immediately slipped my fingers between his.
His hot skin calmed me, like always. Even if he didn’t want me, at least he let me stay, took care of me, and fed me. I loved how he cooked for us every night after he came back from whatever business he had with the others. He also kept others away from our house. He was the protector I needed, whether he understood that or not.
I walked a step behind, trusting him. Wherever he took me. Whatever we did. I couldn’t help but hesitate when some things struck a memory, but he was patient. Tolerant.
Cook leaned toward me. “Ward recommended this place.”
Squeezing his hand, I surprised even myself when I asked, “Can we have him and Belle back for dinner?”
“Of course,” he answered absently and guided me toward the stairs.
I ran my fingertips over the corrugated metal wall as we climbed.
He stopped me on the landing outside the doors. “You and me, Maddie. This is going to be new for both of us.”
I bobbed my head. “I trust you.”
Thankfully he was starting to refer to us as one. I had felt it the moment we met each other at Signora’s, but he’d stayed away from me so far. That kiss next to his motorcycle just made me hungry.
“You’re after something, Maddie.” His voice was low, like a secret meant for just us two. “I want to give it to you, but I’m not sure if I can.”
“You’re exactly what I need,” I whispered so quietly I wasn’t sure he could hear.
Cook wove his fingers in my hair. “Be patient.”
I wasn’t sure I could be, didn’t understand why he wouldn’t take me. All the other men, except my father, took me too. Perhaps that’s what I sensed about Cook. He wouldn’t take without concern for me.
Cook kissed my forehead, tender like a father would be for a child and my insides threatened to flood out. I couldn’t deny anything he asked. Ever.
He took me by the hand and led me into Serenity.
I didn’t know what I expected inside. A whole new world, perhaps. But it was just dark. We met a desk with a receptionist, who wore skin-tight leather and a high ponytail holding blond hair that fell to her ass even bound up like that.
She gave one look at Cook and nodded as if she recognized him. He walked around the desk, leading me by the hand, toward velvet curtains that draped behind the desk.
“Cook,” I said, my heartbeat quickening. Without realizing it, I had dug the heels of my tennis shoes into the marble floor.
He looked back at me, softness crinkling the skin around her eyes. “What is it, Maddie?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. A scream caught in the back of my throat. Memories of then hit me like a tidal wave. This wasn’t Enigma, but there had been curtains like this blocking the halls into Tommy Gambino’s offices within the club.
The darkness lingered heavily, pressing down on my chest. The hard floor was like the cold concrete in the hole, the cage in the dungeon at Enigma where I went when I couldn’t live up to Tommy’s expectations.
“Maddie,” whispered Cook.
His voice allowed air into the room, gave me breath again and grounded me. Cook wouldn’t bring me somewhere dangerous. He said I was safe.
So, I knew there wasn’t a cold cage behind those curtains.
I knew I was safe.
“Do you want to leave?” asked Cook.
I didn’t want him to ask me that, because no, I needed to stop being so skittish. I wanted to run and hide, but that was when the memories assaulted me, holding around my neck and suffocating the life out of me. If he was going to take this risk, so was I.
“No,” I answered.
Cook straightened. Something hard came over him, and he pressed my chin up to face him as he looked me dead in the eye. “I am going inside,” he said. “You’re coming with me, and you’re not going to stop us again.”
Unease fell off my shoulders until I stood taller. I relaxed in Cook’s hold. Wherever and whenever and whatever he commanded. He peeled back the curtain and led me inside.
The place was as full as I’d expect at a club between midnight and 1 a.m. Men and women in black. Some wore suits and others leather, but most of them drank dark liquor from faceted glasses... similar to Enigma. I molded myself to Cook’s shoulder, and he positioned his thick body between me and anyone who let their eyes linger.
He would protect me.
Keep me safe.
Cook could’ve been a carbon copy of some of the men in the room as if it wasn’t for the bright white T-shirt with a 1950s diner graphic on the front. There were also four words. “Eat out” in a thought bubble and “Dine in” with an arrow pointing at the hem.
If others here wore leather, it wasn’t a motorcycle club jacket, but studded leather bodices and some collars. One person wore latex from head to toe with eye and mouth holes only. I wondered how the hell they peed in that thing.
“Eyes on me. Focus on my jacket,” ordered Cook, and I stared at The Ridge MC letters in an arc across the upper part of his leather jacket.
The world shifted around me as moans blending pain and pleasure pounded against my head. I started humming low in my throat to block some of the too familiar sounds.
Cook turned away, squaring off with the two people who brushed against us. They backed down, and he continued walking. I kept my eyes fixated on the MC logo, trusting and following where he guided me.
When we stepped through another door, the music and moans faded, and I heard a man’s voice.
“My receptionist told me you had stopped in,” he said.
I kept my gaze pinned but took in the rest of the room through my peripheral vision. The office. Dark wood and black prevailed, but there were accents of satin and velvet and silk. The man, though, looked hard as diamonds. I shied away from him, not liking the look of him or the smell of his cologne.
“We’re here for our free coaching session,” said Cook.
What did he mean by that? Besides a sex club, what was this place?
“Right this way,” the man said.
A round of introductions passed, but I stayed silent.
Then Sloan started listing off the activities the patrons could indulge in while here.
I glued myself to Cook, not liking Sloan Mercer in the slightest. Grease radiated on his skin, oozing from his pores. Another reminder of the times I’d spent at Enigma.
Cook hooked his arm around my shoulders and wove his fingers into my hair. I wanted to be in his lap, but that wouldn’t work so well while he stood.
“The free session includes us establishing boundaries for both parties.” Sloan licked his lips, and I shuddered.
I stood on my tiptoes and whispered to Cook. “Is his tongue...?”
Cook stiffened under me and gave a tiny nod. His arm tightened around my shoulders, reassuring me he would shield me with his body. While the unease was palpable in my stomach, the rest of it ebbed.
Cook had me. He would protect me.
“What kind of boundaries?” asked Cook.
When he spoke, his chest rumbled, and I vibrated along with him. That, in combination with all the other sights and sounds, made my pussy irrationally wet.
Did he know I was already dripping? I shouldn’t have worn this dress out today, but Cook said I was to look pretty for him. This was the prettiest thing Bou had brought, and the look that had crossed his face when he saw me said everything I needed to know. The style of it was rather frilly and short, but if Cook liked it, then I would love it for him.
I should have known he would like the frills, given his collection of ruffled aprons.
“It’s all part of the contract between a dominant and submissive,” explained Sloan with a flare of his fingers.
“Contract?” Cook asked, echoing my thoughts. “No one said shit about a contract.”
Sloan smiled, or at least that’s what I thought it was. “It’s more of an agreement between parties participating in a scene. We require it. It encourages communication and consent before you’re in the heat of the moment.”
He couldn’t be serious.
Thankfully, Cook asked, “Like we have to write down everything that’s allowed?”
The weaselly man grinned. “No. That would take away the surprise factor and some people get off on that alone. The contract contains what is off limits, more than what’s green-lighted. And of course, it forces the use of a safe word or, in the case one partner is gagged, a safe action. That can be something like a finger snap, Maddie.”
I hated how he said my name, but Cook had me. All this talk of being unable to speak made me rub my thighs together. I stopped myself just shy of rubbing against Cook. He could’ve had me at the house, on his motorcycle, behind a store, or anywhere, but he brought me here. Why was he parading me through a sex club?
“So we need to sign this thing now?” asked Cook. “Why didn’t you say something about this before?”
Before? Cook had come here before. What had he done when he came before? Who had he done?
A lump clotted the base of my throat. Did he take another partner here? Before me? Did he use his meaty hands to slap her ass? Or something more wicked? My pussy twitched, and I clamped my thighs together.
Quit being silly, Maddie,I scolded myself. Of course, he didn’t come here with someone else or he would’ve known about this contract thing.
Cook let out a soft growl, and I realized I had accidentally tightened my grip on him. The front of his jeans was already swelled. I just wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to bring me here for sex. But maybe it was about something else.
I tucked my chin into my chest.
“It’s really simple,” Sloan continued. He pulled out a clipboard with a paper attached and showed us. “You each list the things that are off limits. Cook, you in this column, and Maddie’s will go here.”
He dragged the butt end of a pen down the column with the title submissive.
Cook took the clipboard from his hand.
“I’ll wait outside. Grab me when you’ve and both signed.” Sloan pivoted and walked away.
I turned my head and called out to Sloan’s back. “Do you have examples?”
His spine straightened and he turned his head, but not his body. “The list is probably longer than your imagination, but I have one sub who is particularly averse to rope for binding, for example.” He slipped through the door, leaving me alone with Cook.
I grabbed the clipboard and pen from his grip and scribbled on the first line: Cages.
Cook read the word and growled, his nostrils flaring.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He grabbed my chin and brought my eyes to his. “Do not apologize.”
I tried to avert my eyes, but he held my face like a vice grip.
Deferring to his command, I answered, “Yes, Daddy.”
His nostrils flared again, eyes hardening like stone, and I wondered which of my actions had him wound so tightly. The word I’d put in the off-limits column or calling him Daddy.
“May I call you that?” I rolled the pen between my fingers. “Here, at least?”
“Yes,” he gritted out.
Something sinister and determined had slipped over Cook when we’d entered this place. He observed everything and everyone like they had murderous intentions, as though he might reach for the gun in the back of his waistband at any second. Even alone, he didn’t let his shields down. And I would be lying if I said it didn’t pull me even closer toward him.
Morris Cook was the man I needed. The protector. He may not have known it when he stormed into that galley kitchen at Barton Mill, but I had. I’d recognized my daddy immediately. The person who could be my complete world, be patient with me, teach me to be something more than Signora’s whore.
It thrilled me that he was starting to see it too.
Taking the clipboard from my hands, he steered me toward the desk and laid the plastic thing flat with a slapping noise. I just stood there, staring down at the leather-studded barrel chair at my side.
Cook’s hand rested at the small of my back, grounding me. “Do you have anything else to add to the list, Maddie?”
I scratched a burn scar on my forearm and bent over the desk, writing sigaretsand hot knifein the off-limits column.
Standing afterward, I handed him the pen. “That’s all I can think of.”
Daddy scanned my writing. “Cigarettes?” he asked.
I nodded in small jerky motions, and he scratched out my word. Next to it, he wrote the word again, starting with a C.
“I’m sorry.”
Daddy grabbed my chin. “Do not say that word. You didn’t get to have the same education as everyone else. But now you know.”
He flipped the page and scanned the rest of the document, then scrawled an illegible signature on the line labeled Dominant. Finished, he offered me the pen.
Confused, I asked, “You don’t have anything to add?”
He pinched his lips and shook his head in slow, deliberate motions, seeming so uncharacteristically quiet and serious.
I stepped closer to him and straightened my body until we were nose to nose. He stood taller than me, but not quite by a head. When I straightened and he looked down, I could kiss my nose to the tip of his.
“We don’t need to do all this,” I said, indicating the room.
He inhaled and exhaled an extended Big Red–scented breath. “Yes, Maddie. We do.”
“You’re sure?” A current ran through me when my nipples brushed against his chest, but he didn’t make one single move. Couldn’t he even react?
Cook lifted the pen between our faces. “Sign.”
Snatching the pen back, I looked him square in the eye and smirked. I was safe now, with the man who would clearly shield me with his entire body and soul. So, if we were going to play, I was going all in.
Spine straight. Shoulders rolled back. I hinged at the hips to make sure my ass was sticking high in the air with the short skirt barely covering the prize. I may have been wearing a flouncy dress, but I could never be called innocent. A brat though? Yeah, that I could do.
I signed.