6 Cassius #3
“Correct,” she chirps, yanking her closet doors open. “But you are going to sit there and tell me which top makes Bitty Boo and Litty shine.”
“Who?” I blink at her like I’ve just been dropped into a different language.
“Bitty Boo.” She points to her right boob. “And Litty.” Then her left.
I stare.
I truly, genuinely stare.
She’s going to kill me.
She’s actually going to kill me.
“I’m going to regret this.” I lean back on her bed like I’m prepping for impact. “But why Bitty Boo and Litty?”
She doesn’t even hesitate—just flips through hangers like she’s choosing snacks instead of weapons of mass destruction—and pulls out the black sheer long-sleeve and lace bralette combo. The same one from the mental image I’ve been aggressively trying to delete since she packed it.
“Because Bitty likes to be bit,” she says cheerfully, pointing at the right bralette cup, “and Litty likes to be licked.”
She throws me a wink.
My stomach drops through the fucking floor. I cough—actually cough—because my body forgets how to function for a second.
“Right,” I manage, but my voice cracks like a preteen in puberty. “Totally normal that you’ve named your boobs.”
“Great.” She’s already stripping off her oversized shirt like this is a regular thing and not a tactical nuke to my sanity. “Be right back.”
She disappears into the bathroom.
I drop my head back and stare at her ceiling.
I am not a strong enough man for this.
The door opens as she slowly steps out. And I forget the English language, because the shirt is sheer. The bralette is black lace. And her skin is warm and glowing under the light. Yet she’s looking at me like she’s totally unaware that she’s the hottest person on earth.
“Well?” she asks, turning slowly. “Do Bitty Boo and Litty look good in this?”
My throat works uselessly. “They, uh… yeah.”
Words. How do they work again?
She frowns at her reflection, tugging on the sleeve. “Is it too much? Or not enough? I can never tell.”
“It’s—” I swallow. Hard. “It’s enough.”
“Oh?” She grins, stepping closer. “Enough to get me laid tonight?”
Every muscle in my body goes stiff.
“Why,” I start carefully, “are we talking about you getting laid?”
She shrugs like this is a casual conversation about the weather. “Maybe I need it. A cosmic recalibration, you know?” She circles her finger in the air. “A little universe-reset-by-fucking kind of situation.”
I stare, but she keeps talking.
“And since you’re the only man I know who’s honest about this stuff, I need to ask—would this outfit attract, like…” She drops her voice dramatically. “Big… Loch energy?”
“… Loch?” I repeat, deadpan.
She nods very seriously. “Loch. As in Loch Ness, the monster living in your pants.”
My brain statics, because I just can’t process anymore. I really can’t.
“I don’t—Zae, what the hell kind of nickname—”
“Oh please,” she interrupts, waving a hand. “Do not act offended. I’ve been calling him Loch since junior year. You should be honored.”
Since junior year.
Since junior year!
I am going to pass out.
“And before you start,” she continues, “yes, Loch is appropriate because he’s mysterious, possibly dangerous, and nobody knows his exact size.”
I choke. Actually choke.
She pats my knee sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Loch. Your secret is safe with me.”
“That’s not—he’s not—why are we—Zae.” I fluster, literally unable to form any kind of cohesive sentence.
“Yes?” she says brightly.
“Stop naming my—” I gesture, helplessly, “—stuff.”
She ignores me and flops onto the bed next to me, adjusting her bralette. “Anyway, I need an outfit that says ‘Kat is open for business.’”
“… Kat,” I echo, my voice hoarse. “Who’s Kat?”
She points at herself like this is obvious. “My Kat.”
“… Your… what?”
“My kitty, Cass.” She blinks at me. “Kat. Because I’m not saying pussy in front of you. You’d combust.”
I bury my face in my hands.
She leans over, and stage-whispers: “Kat needs a good night.”
I make a noise that’s definitely not human. To which she sits back, grinning.
“And you, my dear Loch wrangler, are supposed to tell me if this outfit qualifies as ‘good night’ material.”
I look at her.
Really look at her.
At her flushed cheeks, the confident pose she’s trying a little too hard to fake, the edges of sadness still clinging to her from earlier, the way she’s trying to claw her way back to herself. And at the lace barely covering anything. My pulse is a steady roar.
“It’s…” I exhale through my nose. “It’s fine.”
She narrows her eyes. “Fine? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Zae.”
“Yes?”
“Please put on a jacket before we go,” I mutter.
She smirks. “Why? You jealous?”
I snap my gaze to hers—sharp, warning—but she just laughs and hops off the bed, swaying her hips way more than necessary as she heads back to the bathroom to finish her hair.
“Relax,” she calls over her shoulder. “Loch is safe. Kat’s hunting elsewhere tonight.”
I stare after her, pulse pounding, every cell in my body trying not to explode. I am not irritated anymore. I am not angry.
I’m just… screwed.
Because now I’m frustrated for a completely different reason.
And she has no idea.