Andi #2
“Good luck at the studio, Beck,” Everett calls over his shoulder as Beck makes his way back into the house.
Beck offers me a cute little wink behind Everett’s shoulder as he shuts the door behind him. I swear, if we could read each other’s minds, I’m sure he’d be saying something like “go get ‘em tiger” or something stupid like that.
“I’m happy you chose me,” Everett murmurs.
“I—I guess I wanted to spend more one-on-one time with you. We haven’t really had the chance to do that yet.”
“We have not.” Everett’s voice is low. Those simple words seem to carry the weight of something more significant than just the casual notion of spending time together.
It makes my face flush hot at the idea that a man like him has been anticipating spending time with me, of all people.
“You’re blushing,” he growls, reaching out and cupping my cheek with his large hand.
“Am—am I?”
He leans down so his hot breath brushes against my ear. “You are. It makes me want to see just how far down that blush goes, Honey.”
My breath hitches in my throat and I freeze in place, like some sort of prey animal caught in a hunter’s trap.
The glimmer in Everett’s eyes as he straightens, all smug satisfaction and pride, makes my perfume sweeten in the air and I feel the embarrassing hint of slick dampening my panties.
I think the nightly orgasm prescription with Leo or Beck, or both of them at the same time, has primed my body.
“As much as I like the sight of you in one of our t-shirts,” Everett murmurs, nodding down towards the t-shirt Eli gave me—I’ve been rotating through them almost every night—, “I think it would be best if you got changed. This version of you is just for us.”
“O—okay,” I rasp. “Any—any preferences for what I wear?”
His gaze darkens as he tilts his head to look at me.
“Why are you asking what I’d like to see you wear, Honey?” he murmurs. I can’t help but feel like there’s a test woven into his words.
“Because... I want to look good for you? You’re bringing me to your work. And—and this will be the first time we go out together. Almost like a date?”
The moment the word date leaves my lips, I wince.
Shit, does that sound juvenile? I hope it doesn’t.
“Hmm,” he hums, his lips peeling back in a sultry smile. “So eager to please, aren’t you?”
Okay, maybe it doesn’t sound juvenile.
“It’s a date, then. I’ll make sure to bring you somewhere nice once we’re all done with work.”
“O—okay,” I nod eagerly.
“How about you check your closet, you should have a selection of sundresses—there’s one with little blue flowers and a milkmaid cut. I want you to try that on and see if you like it.”
“You—you know what clothes are in my closet?”
“We all went shopping for you, Honey,” he murmurs, his voice dropping in pitch again. “Every single one of us snuck in something we wanted to see you wear.”
“Really?” I ask, my eyes wide. That’s simultaneously sweet and really hot.
“Maybe some other day it could be a fun little game for you to figure out who chose what,” he hums. “But today? You’re all mine. Now, go get dressed.”
I know Everett told me to try it on and see if I liked it, instead of just telling me to wear it, but I don’t think that prefacing was at all necessary. It seemed more like an afterthought, to make sure he wasn’t coming across too domineering.
But I love the dress.
It’s made of a soft and stretchy fabric, so despite my recent fluctuations in weight over the past month and my through ongoing recovery, it fits really well.
It also makes me feel more confident than I have in...
well, since I was taken. I’ve been living in borrowed t-shirts and soft sweatpants over the past few days, and although comforting, they certainly do nothing for my figure.
This dress hugs me in all the right places, ending around mid-thigh. The milkmaid cut of the dress also dips low enough that my cleavage is on display in a way that I’m really hoping Everett will enjoy.
Actually, scratch that— I know he’ll enjoy it, considering he bought this specifically for me. I hope it lives up to his imagination.
There’s something fundamentally different about having a closet full of clothes the guys have bought me. I think it has something to do with them prioritizing me rather than the image Gina wanted to showcase when she was forcibly curating my closet.
I keep my hair loose around my shoulders the way they all seem to like.
The makeup I put on is light—just some eyeliner, mascara, and lip tint—enough for me to feel more human. More me. But not enough to keep him waiting too long.
He’s waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I still have to death grip the railing every time I make my way up or down, but I’ve been getting better at not freezing up every time I set foot on them.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. The single curse leaves his lips on a barely audible exhale, and it sends a thrill shooting down my spine.
His hazelnut whiskey scent is so thick in the air that it makes me a little dizzy, almost like I pounded three shots back to back.
“How do I look?” I ask, my lips quirking into a cheeky grin. I give him a little spin, the skirt of the dress lifting with the motion, giving him a brief peek at my thighs..
“Perfect,” he says, his voice gruff. He clears his throat. “We should go before... before I get too distracted.”
I feel like I’m floating as he guides me to the garage, delighted to see he is as enchanted with me as I am with him.
Apparently, Edison has made room in here for some of the guys’ cars.
I let out a low whistle when Everett guides me to his gray Porsche Spyder.
“Fancy ride,” I say.
The corner of his lip quirks up in a self-satisfied smirk.
“When Beck bragged about how much you liked his sports car, I had to make sure you knew he wasn’t the only one with a little car collection.”
I let out an embarrassing giggle. Damn, I must seem like an airhead, giggling about these guys’ cars.
“You know, there’s a whole goldmine of jokes about how you two are competing to see who has the smallest cock,” I snicker, holding up my pinkie and giving it a little wiggle.
Everett’s gaze darkens as he holds open the door for me, gesturing for me to get inside.
I can’t bring shame on the feminist movement by acting like an airheaded bimbo. If I’m going to act like that, I have to balance out the scales by giving him shit.
“I would say this is a mid-life crisis competition, but because Beck is so much younger, it’s not really a competition. You know, cause you’re the only one really going through it. Tell me, do old men get hot flashes?”
“Get in the car, Andi,” he says, his voice low.
Oops, I’m in trouble if he’s using my name. God, he’s so fun to tease.
My pulse races as I slide in, barely biting back the ear-splitting grin that desperately wants to escape.
He stalks around the front of the car after shutting the door for me, his steps long and confident.
When he slides into the seat beside me and turns the car on, it purrs to life, vibrating through my seat. It sends a thrill down my spine.
Sue me, I’m a girl who enjoys a fancy car. Do I know a whole lot beyond the different models? Nope. If you lifted the hood, I wouldn’t be able to point out the difference between where the oil, windshield wiper fluid, and the engine coolant are supposed to go.
Actually, on second thought, I think you have to get under a car to change the oil, right? I guess that proves my point that I know nothing about cars other than when they look nice and sound cool.
“You sure get mouthy when it comes to my age,” he growls, peering at me out of the corner of his eye. “But I think you’re just waiting for me to shut you up.”
“We’re in the land of the free! What happened to freedom of speech!” I shoot back, losing the battle against the smile I’m trying to hold back as the garage door opens behind us.
“Freedom of speech doesn’t mean freedom from consequences, Honey,” he murmurs, resting his arm against the headrest of my seat and looking out the back window as he backs up.
I swallow hard, my chamomile perfume sweetening in the air around us at the sight. Because the cabin is so small, there’s no way for me to hide just how much the sight of him backing the car up the old-fashioned way affects me, even though there’s a rear-view camera right there.
I’m sure there’s a joke there, about how he’s backing up, but I’ve already pushed my luck enough.
Plus, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?
I want him to back up like this every time I’m in the car with him if it means I get to drink in the sight of his delicious forearms flexing right by my head.
“What if—what if I’m curious about the consequences?” My voice is far breathier than I would’ve wanted. I want to exude confident femme fatale around him, not nervous schoolgirl.
“Curiosity killed the pussycat,” Everett huffs, his eyes trailing over me as we stop at a stop sign. “In more ways than one.”
“I think it’s just curiosity killed the cat,” I say weakly.
“I said what I said,” he chuckles.
He turns the volume up on whatever electronic music playlist he has going, and I spend the rest of the ride trying to work through the ridiculous jumble of thoughts bouncing around in my mind.
“We’re here,” he says, pulling into a numbered parking spot in the private parking garage of the building. It’s underground so the celebrities who come here can get in and out without being hunted down by paparazzi.
“What’s going through that pretty head of yours, Honey?”
I take a deep, steadying breath, reaching out and gently taking his hand.
“I—I’ve been giving it some thought, and I—I want you to know that I’m not as fragile as you think.”
“Honey—”
“No, I’m serious. Don’t honey me unless you’re doing it in a sexy, way. Not the babying kind of way. I’m not stupid, and Beck and Leo have mentioned enough stuff about you offhandedly for me to get a good idea of what you’re into and why you haven’t wanted to do anything more than kiss.”