12. The Brat Pack
Chapter 12
The Brat Pack
KRI
I glance at my costume hanging on the back of my office door. The urge to bodily cringe becomes too powerful to resist, and a shudder runs through me from head to toe. “This is stupid. Why did I agree to this? Is it too late to stage a protest? I’m not above taking a hostage until my demands are met.”
Shep’s sexy laugh wraps around me from behind, giving my nipples a virtual tweak.
His damn laugh makes me nothing but a dumb girl with tits for brains.
In fact, that’s probably why I agreed with Lettie and Mia’s matching costume idea in the first place. I was giddy after the proposal and being cleared to return to work. They manipulated my euphoric state to suit their agenda.Between Shep activating my tit brains and those conniving shit disturbers, I didn’t stand a chance.
His strong hands latch onto my hips, and he yanks me backward until I plow into the wall of his body. With his mouth hovering over my ear, he rumbles, “I think you’re gonna look sexy as hell. I’ll be hard all night.”
I wave my open palm at the horrendous thing. “It’s a skirt , Shep. A short one.”
“Which is part of what I love about it. Makes sneaking into a closet to get inside of you all that much easier.”
Despite his optimism, I’m still horrified at the prospect of traipsing around Redleg with my peers—most of which are men—in a fucking sexy Santa dress.“I am officially removing myself from the Brat Pack.”
In one hulking step, Shep plants himself beside me. He’s no longer staring at the girlie red and white atrocity on the hanger with a lustful gaze. Instead, he’s burning a hole into the side of my face with his dumb sexy eyes. “Excuse me? The what pack?”
Oh shit.
Mayday, mayday!
We can’t let the Doms learn we’re unionizing.
“Rat Pack,” I sputter in a paltry attempt to cover up my flub. “You know? The shit Klein listens to. Sammy Davis, Old Blue Eyes, and all the rest of them.”
He arches a knowing brow at me, not buying my bullshit one bit. “And why would you need to remove yourself from the Rat Pack?”
Think, Kri. Think dammit.
“Well, because the whole point of these costumes was to recreate the scene from the movie where they sang a Rat Pack song. I guess that’s why Lettie started calling us that. Or maybe it was Mia.”
Truth is, Mia came up with the Brat Pack name to troll Klein, even if he wouldn’t ever know it.
Shep shakes his head, looking every bit the disapproving dad. “Wow, Kri. Was that painful?”
“Was what painful?”
“Coming up with that bullshit lie?”
“It isn’t t a lie.” Feigning outrage, I shove backward a step and look down my nose at him. “That’s what they sang in the movie. Why would I lie?”
There is no chance, absolutely none, that he watched Mean Girls . Even if he did, he’ll never be able to remember what song the characters sang at the talent show thing.
His ridiculously full lips purse, and he clicks his tongue. Despite the implied condescension, the expression makes me want to take a seat on his face. I love his big lips.
He keeps his stare trained on me while he retrieves his phone, brings it up to his face, and poises his thumb to swipe.
Damn you, Google.
I remain unblinking, refusing to let him see the thin cracks in my facade. He may think he’s won with the threat of an internet search, but I’m confident in my ability to win the staring contest.
A solid five seconds pass with no victor emerging.
In my peripheral, I note the wiggle of his thumb over the screen. “Trying to taunt me with your thumb, Shep?”
“Go ahead and blink, and I’ll show you what else this thumb can do.”
I puff up my chest, partly to beckon his eyes downward and partly because I’m pissed that he’s resorting to sexual bribery. That’s cheap. Even for him.
If he can do it, so can I. “I already know what that thumb can do. It’s mediocre at best.”
“Liar.”
“Prove it,” I challenge.
His eyes widen, still unblinking. “Oh, I will, baby girl. As soon as you break the stare and tell me why you’re lying about the Rat Pack thing when we both know what you said. Once you come clean, you’ll get up close and personal with what my thumb can do. And all my other appendages too.”
“You blink first, and then I’ll let you show me.”
“That’s not how this works. You know you want to be good for me, baby girl.”
My upper cheek pulses with a burning need to blink and swoon. But I don’t because I won’t be swayed by his stupid pet name or promises to do delicious things to me. I’m stronger than that.
Probably.
Another five seconds pass. He inches closer until he’s pressed flush against me. My nipples stiffen to peaks, brushing against his pecs with each raspy breath I heave.
Has my office always been this warm? We should get someone to check the HVAC system.
His voice rumbles from the depths of his chest. “What’s wrong, baby girl? Having trouble breathing?”
I tip my chin upward, confidence wavering. “Fuck you, Shep.”
“You can do that right after you tell me why you’re lying.”
“Cocky bastard.”
“Naughty girl.”
He lifts the phone up to his face and presses the voice assistant button on the side. After the beep, he calmly says, “Call Klein.”
Okay , he isn’t searching the internet for the answer that’ll seal my fate.
Klein answers in his typically cheery tone but with a holiday flare. “Ho, ho, ho, hello. Have you been a good boy this year, Shepherd?”
Idiot . How that man has managed to snag my one true love, Mia, I’ll never know.
Grinning, Shep says, “Hey, asshole. Listen, I got a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“The song from the movie Mean Girls . What was it?”
“The one at the winter talent show?” Klein asks.
Shit . He clearly knows the movie. But will he know the song? Doubtful.
“When the girls had the sexy Santa costumes,” Shep clarifies.
Klein proves me wrong, answering almost immediately. “Jingle Bell Rock.”
My cheek twitches again, and it’s getting harder to hold off the blink. Shep’s mere seconds away from winning the staring contest. And I hate that almost as much as I hate having tits for brains.
“And is that a Rat Pack song?” Shep asks, one brow arching in a mocking gesture.
Yes, his brow is mocking me.
Stupid sexy brow.
“While the Rat Pack has performed that song many-a-time, I wouldn’t consider it a Rat Pack song. Besides, the version in the movie wasn’t even from the same time frame.”
“Fuck you, Klein,” I snap, unable to hold my tongue.
“Oh, hey, Kri. With a mouth like that, you’ll be getting coal in your stocking.”
What does Mia see in that moron?
Surrendering completely, I blink, falter back a step, and let the tension release from my shoulders. “Dammit.” I put my head down in defeat.
Shep gloats like the devil who just successfully bartered for another soul. “Thanks for your help, pal. See you at the party.”
“You got it,” Klein chirps and ends the call.
I try to sneak away, but Shep cages me against the one empty wall in my office.
“What’s the Brat Pack, Kri?”
“Isn’t that what they call the teenage actors from those eighties John Hughes movies?”
“Perhaps. Follow-up question.” He lowers his forehead, his heated glare burning into me from under his strong brow. “Were you a teenage actor in the eighties? Because the math ain’t mathin’ unless you lied to me about your age.”
“Val’s vernacular is rubbing off on you.” Since the staring contest is over, I blatantly roll my eyes with gusto. “What do you want from me, Shep?”
His smirk is precariously teetering between cocky and sexy. How does he pull that off so well?
Stupid hot smirk.
“Are you and the girls doing something you shouldn’t be doing?”
“Something I shouldn’t be doing?” I repeat, frustration and obstinance coloring my tone. “Are you honestly attempting to control what I do outside the bedroom or who I associate with?”
His smugness dissolves, and his eyes grow thoughtful and unfocused. “Hmm. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
This smells like victory. A grin plucks at the corner of my mouth.
Suddenly, he shrugs, his posture going as casual as a stroll on the beach. “I guess you’re right. You and the girls can do whatever you want. Silly of me to be concerned.”
I jerk my chin in a showy nod. “Damn right.”
He gives me a chaste kiss, then drops his arms so his his sexy body no longer cages me in. “I mean, assuming that nothing you’re doing with your group of friends spills over into our bedroom, then we’re good.”
In classic Shep style, he manages to convey so much with a single statement. He knows what we’re up to, yet he won’t try to control me.
His words do give me pause, though.
Is that what we’re doing? Sharing secrets and strategizing ways to gain the upper hand—occasionally and in a sexy way—over our partners?
Nah . We’re not plotting to overthrow our Doms. We love them. This isn’t a mutiny. It’s good-natured fun.Girl bonding. Or so I assume.
Besides, I’d bet money they trade secrets about us. I’ve been in male-dominated spaces long enough to know that they talk as much shit about relationships as women do. Sometimes more. It’s just differently coded and often padded with wishful thinking and sexism.
Fuck it.
I’ll stay in the Brat Pack.
Even if that means wearing this atrocious outfit to the party. Ugh .