Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
A free dress? I'll take it. "Sure."
"Okay. Off." She hands the dress to Damon. "Hold it for her."
"Laurel." My cheeks flush. I bite my tongue before I can object further. If he's my boyfriend, he's seen me naked. I shouldn't be nervous to change in front of him. I find another excuse. "He's not a coat rack."
"Of course not." Laurel shoots me a don't be dense look. "He's here for a male opinion."
"Why do we need that?" I ask.
She laughs. "Cass, come on. Don't pretend it's not obvious. You want to make Frederick jealous."
I do, but it's not my primary goal. At least, not as a man. As an artist, yes, I want to make him cry. As a man, well—
I guess I also want to make him cry there.
Still. I'm not completely obsessed. Why is everyone acting like I'm only doing this for some sort of revenge?
Laurel continues, without noting my displeasure. "And the artist is a guy, right? I want to give him the right idea."
"What idea is that?"
"He should want to fuck you, but think you're too classy for that," she says it as if it's obvious and normal and not even a little bit icky.
Damon nods in agreement. I guess that's a reasonable goal to the two of them.
"Great talking, kids, but we've got a deadline. Clothes off." Laurel motions for me to strip.
My entire body flames. I don't have another excuse. Only the truth. And there's no way I'm telling Laurel the truth. Not under normal circumstances—keeping secrets is not her skill set—and not when she's attending the party with us.
"I'll undo you." Damon brings his lips to my ear. "I can go work upstairs."
"Is there more to do?" I ask.
"No. Sent the song before I came downstairs."
"Can I hear the final?"
"Right now?" He laughs. "Wouldn't you rather wait until we're alone?"
"Why would I do that?" I ask.
"I used your vocal track," he says.
Somehow, I get hotter. A different kind of hotter, like my heart and mind are on display too. No. There's no like. They are.
It's standard for the songwriter to lay out a temp vocal track to get the melody right. But usually, I let my partner do it. I'm not a trained singer. I have limited technical ability.
But I am a woman and my past partners were all men. My range is higher than Damon's or Frederick's. Neither has an especially deep voice, but then Bryce does love to hit the high notes.
"You shouldn't be shy about it," he says. "You sold the emotion in every line. Who cares if you're not as technically proficient as a professional?"
I do. And I care about the first part too. It's one thing to hand my lyrics to someone else. To actually spill my guts to the world myself? No thanks.
"Hey!" Laurel clears her throat. "Less pillow talk. More clothing removal."
"Sure." I make eye contact through the mirror. Nod. "Go for it."
Damon undoes the first button. Then the second. He steps aside so I can push the dress off my shoulders.
He's between my sister and me. He doesn't have anywhere to go. So he looks to the couch as I push the dress to my waist.
The fabric falls at my feet.
His eyes go to the mirror. He looks me up and down, from my bare feet to my beige panties, my bare stomach, my breasts, my neck, my eyes.
Then back to the breasts.
Fuck. It's hot in here. How is it so hot in here?
The way he stares erases all the insecurities in my mind. I don't worry about my singing voice or my small breasts or my swimmer's shoulders.
Desire overwhelms me.
He wants me.
And I want him to want me. I want it so fucking badly.
"Yes, yes, we get it. You love each other's bodies." Laurel motions go ahead. She makes a show of rolling her eyes, as if she can't believe how boring we are. Or maybe how unconvincing we are.
I can't tell anymore.
"Help her into it, please," Laurel instructs Damon.
I try to think of something to defuse the tension, but I don't have anything.
Damon's fingers brush mine as he hands me the dress. I step out of this one. Bend to pull the other one.
It slides on easily.
Damon watches as I pull the fabric over my hips, stomach, breasts.
Through the mirror, his eyes meet mine. They offer something I can't explain, something that says I love you like this.
Naked physically or emotionally?
I'm not sure. I only know I want it. I really, really want it.
Again, Laurel rolls her eyes. "Oh my god, could you too keep it in your pants for ten minutes. We have a deadline." She motions for him to zip me.
Again, he moves closer. Again, he lets his fingers brush my back as he pulls the zipper up.
"Oh yeah." Laurel looks me up and down, already back in stylist mode, unconcerned with the chemistry between my fake boyfriend and me. "I like this. We just need the shoes. Don't worry. They're boots. You can rock your 'signature.'" She picks up a pair of heeled boots and hands them to Damon. "You want to help her into them?"