Chapter Fifty-Two
Rhys
The mall was a mistake.
I know it the second we walk in and Benji races toward Victoria’s Secret like he’s on a mission from God.
A half-naked mannequin in pink lace greets us, and Jett snorts behind me like this is beneath him.
Yet somehow he’s the first one elbow-deep in a bin of glittery body lotion called Sugar Whore Mist.
“Do not let her put that on,” he says. “I’ll black out and ruin public decency laws.”
“Perfect,” Benji says, unbothered, holding up a sheer baby-doll nightie in pale lavender with tiny bows on the straps. “She’d look dangerous in this.”
“She looks dangerous without it,” I say. I’m trying not to imagine her in that thing. Or how quickly I’d pull it off. Or how I’d press her into the sheets and make her come so hard she cries.
“She’d look like weaponized cotton candy,” Jett adds, eyeing the same one. “Get two. She’ll destroy both inside a week.”
Benji throws them in the bag, then grabs a full-size shimmer body spray and holds it up like a prize. “This says it smells like cherry milkshake. And sin. Got matching lotion. Both shimmers.”
“We need to smell it,” I say, because suddenly I care about lotion. And about everything she might rub into her skin.
We start spraying each other with every bottle in reach. Something called Crushed Rose Lust gets Jett right in the eye. He swears loudly and sprays me with Autumn Amber Nipple. I retaliate with Vanilla Sex Bomb, aimed squarely at his throat.
“Sir,” a clerk says through gritted teeth. “You need to stop.”
Benji grabs the one that smells like warm sugar and beach orgasms. We all agree. That sounds like fun.
Jett tosses the lusty rose one at him.
I read one more bottle. The notes include daft shit like birthday cake and smiles. That’s fucking her. I spray it on Jett’s shoulder while eyeing the clerk. Then sniff. “Yeah, this one screams Delilah.” I hand it to Benji. Purchase made.
Next stop is the toy store.
It’s wall-to-wall neon plastic chaos. Plushies everywhere. Jett goes quiet, like he’s pretending not to care, but I watch him. His expression softens as he wanders straight to the stuffed animals. There’s a section labeled “Magical Pals,” and I swear he looks reverent.
He picks up something pink. Fluffy. A unicorn… llama. I think.
“What even is that?” I ask.
He doesn’t look up. “It’s perfect.”
It is.
I hate him a little in that moment. Not in any real way. Just in that quietly envious, fuck-he-knows-her-so-well way. He gets her weird. Her chaos. He gets her in the soft spaces, and I’m still learning how.
Jett buys it without question, like this is normal and sane. Like we aren’t three grown men building a glittering offering to our shared sex goddess.
Then we hit the jewelry store.
The air shifts. It always does around diamonds. They’re too reflective. They catch things you don’t want to see.
She’s missing an earring. That won’t do.
I find a pair of heart-shaped diamond studs, delicate, warm-pink sparkle. Not childish. Just soft. Just her.
“I’ll take two pairs,” I say.
The woman behind the counter blinks. “Two?”
“Yeah. She’s got a matching set with me already. Pink diamonds. But this…” I pause. My voice goes quiet without asking permission. “This is one heart for each of us.”
Benji and Jett are suddenly still behind me. Listening. Feeling it settle.
We don’t say anything.
I pick out an anklet next. Slim, rose gold, dotted with soft pink stones. There’s a matching toe ring because my brain is full of her in a sundress with bare feet, licking a popsicle, ruining lives. It’s too much. I buy them both anyway.
Then we raid the candy store.
It’s absolute anarchy.
Benji gets distracted by a wall of artisanal fudge samples.
Jett finds a basket and just starts dumping chocolates into it like he’s bulk buying for an army.
I find an old-school saltwater taffy mix and grab three.
I don’t know if she likes taffy. I want to know.
I want her to like it because I picked it.
Jett’s eating truffles straight out of the box before we even get to the counter.
We’re glitter-slick, sugar-dazed, smell like hookers, loaded down with bags, and high on some fucked-up kind of joy when Jett says, casually, “What else?”
I should say, “That’s enough.” I should say, “We’ve already spent a fortune and I think I might be partially covered in edible glitter.”
But Benji just grins and says, “We gotta get holes in our ears.”
And Jett, without missing a beat, goes, “Piercing Pagoda. Let’s go.”
And that’s how I end up, sitting between two men I never thought I’d trust, clutching a tiny bag of her candies in one hand while a teen girl with blue hair and a questionable license shoots a needle through my earlobe. Twice.
We don’t say what this is. But I think we all feel it. The reckless, glittering gravity of her.
And the dangerous, maybe beautiful truth of us.
The girl with the piercing gun gives me a lollipop like I’m five. I take it.
Benji’s grinning like a lunatic as he examines his ear in the mirror. “I look hot. This is my villain arc.”
“You looked hot before,” I say, because it’s objectively true and I’m too sugar-drunk to lie. “Now you look like you steal girlfriends and cry about it.”
He beams. “Delilah’s gonna bite this.”
Jett’s squinting at his own reflection, tugging on his new stud. “This better not get infected. If I go down from mall plague after all this glitter, I’m gonna fuck someone up.”
“I got two holes,” I say, pointing to my ear. “Because apparently I’m a sentimental bitch and I need room for both her diamonds.”
“You got a matching set with her,” Jett says, like that’s the problem.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” I say.
“Everything looks good on me,” he says.
“True,” Benji cuts in, already walking backward toward the food court. “Ice cream.”
“What?” I ask.
“Ice cream,” he repeats, like this is obvious. “We pierced our bodies. That calls for celebratory frozen dairy. It’s a rule.”
“That’s not a real rule,” I say.
“It is now. C’mon. Rocky Road for Jett, strawberry swirl for you, and I want one of those triple-scoop birthday cake monstrosities that makes me feel like I’m four and invincible.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jett says, but he follows.
We end up eating at one of those little metal tables that sounds like it’s going to collapse with every movement. My earlobe throbs. Jett’s got chocolate on his jaw. Benji’s got a smear of blue on his bicep and doesn’t seem to care. It’s… nice.
Too nice.
I shouldn’t feel this fucking happy. We’ve carved out something just for us. This insane, glitter-drenched romance is real. It’s seeping into my bones. Into the ache in my ears. Into the slow curve of a smile I’m not trying to hide.
“She better like this,” Jett says, but he’s also the one who says, “Let’s go. Her house”
We roll up to her house.
It looks exactly like her, too pink, too bright, slightly menacing. There are flamingos in the yard and a garden gnome holding a butcher knife. I feel like I’m about to be either kissed or sacrificed.
“I’ll go in,” Jett says, already cracking his knuckles.
“You’re not going in alone,” I argue.
Benji claps a hand on my chest. “We’ll keep lookout. You’re bleeding from your new piercing and you can’t be trusted in her house unsupervised.”
He’s right.
We watch Jett disappear through the side gate. Benji and I loiter on the porch like we’re trying to sell Jesus door-to-door. He’s humming.
“You ever break into a girl’s house to leave her presents?” I ask.
“Nope. First time. Feels right though, doesn’t it?” he says.
I smile.
Jett returns five minutes later, looking like he stepped through a unicorn war zone.
He’s holding stuff.
“Jesus,” I say. “Did you loot her?”
“She loots me constantly,” he says, unrepentant. “Turnabout’s fair play.”
Benji lights up. “What’d you get?”
Jett holds up a glitter-covered scrunchie, already pulling his hair up to wear it. “This was on her nightstand. It’s a whole thing with us. Her hair shit. Fuck off.”
“Gonna smell like her,” Benji says dreamily.
“She wants that,” Jett says, but there’s color in his ears.
Then he tosses something at Benji, a ridiculous pink crop top that says ‘Lick Me’ in rhinestones.
“I’m wearing this to the gym,” Benji says seriously, already stretching it over his chest.
“It won’t fit,” I say.
“It’ll try,” he grins.
“And for you,” Jett says, digging in his hoodie pocket, “this.”
He tosses something at my face.
I catch it. It’s a choker. Like a collar.
I stare at it for a second too long.
Jett shrugs. “Figured you’re the one with weird kinks.”
I am.
“She has a disco ball in the kitchen,” he adds casually. “And a bear-shaped jar full of condoms. Also? Her bed looks like it eats men.”
“Perfect,” Benji says, all heart eyes and tiny rhinestones. “Where’d you leave the gift?”
“Right on the unmade sheets. Smack center. I arranged the tissue paper like a fucking romantic.”
“She’s gonna cry,” I say.
“She’s gonna bite me,” Jett counters.
Benji lets out a soft, smug sigh and says, “She’s gonna love it.”
And fuck me, I hope she does.
Because without even meaning to, we just gave her the first real piece of us.