Trick - By Lori Garrett Page 0,48
perfectly fitted jeans, scuffed boots, a tight t-shirt, and that cocky smile, makes me wet all over again.
“Well, well, well, look at you.” He holds his hands out and frowns at the suburban behind me. “It was nice of you to come show me your outfit, baby, but I would have been fine with seeing it after the show.” He looks me up and down and his frown deepens. “Though I’m kinda hoping you’re going to tell me there’s a little more to it than that?”
I look down at the tight satin blouse cut extra low and tied at the midriff, the tiny satin skirt, thigh high fishnets, and high heels. “Well, it’s kind of burlesque style, but without stripping,” I rush to finish explaining when his eyes blaze. “And we’re doing it...here.”
He raises his eyebrows and pulls his mouth to the side. “Come again?”
“Here,” I whisper. “We’re dancing here.”
“Fucking asshole douchebag Ryker,” he mutters. “Okay. Listen. You can’t dance. Not tonight. Not here.” He looks at me, his green eyes holding my gaze.
“You can’t tell me what to do...I have to. I have to, Gunner.” I keep my voice steely. “If I’d known it was here, I would have told you, but I had no clue until we pulled up. We thought it was a country club. They’re paying so much money, we never thought—”
“Never thought it might be a newly rich white trash bastard showing off his money?” he cuts in, disgust all over his face. “I knew I should have never told Ryker yes.”
“Who’s Ryker?” I ask.
“My dumbass brother,” Gunner spits out. “And a champion blowhard, and not the kind of guy I want my girlfriend dancing in front of. Not looking like that, and not even if you were wearing a snowsuit. No way.”
Girlfriend? Even though I know things have changed between us, I wasn’t sure how Gunner would define our relationship. Right in the middle of this stupid argument, I felt like throwing my arms out to the sides and twirling from happiness.
I am Gunner Hunt’s girlfriend.
I love the sound of that.
Unfortunately, there’s no time for me to dwell on it, because I have to take a stand. I so want Gunner to understand, and hope the worst case would be some amazing makeup sex after if he didn’t.
A girl could always hope.
“I’m sorry. I really am. But I have to just go in there and do this with my girls. It’s just a job. When it’s over, I’ll leave. And I’ll leave with you. It will be fine. Trust me.” I reach out for Gunner, but he spins away from my touch, jamming his hands through his hair.
“Damnit! It’s not you I don’t trust, Harlow! You don’t know what a bunch of degenerates my family is. You don’t know the lowlife scum they spend time with. I don’t have to meet a single person in there, and I can tell you right now they’re all trash.” He looks at me, his eyes wild. “Where’s your organizer? I’ll double your money if you leave now. All of you.”
But something has crossed my mind that never did before. “Is Rochelle here?” I glance over and see the bright orange Mustang with the custom striping I’ve found out is hers, so I know the answer.
“I guess. She and Ryker are friends,” he says absently.
“She’s from your world.” I say the words slowly, remembering what Rochelle said to Daisy and me. “And I’m not. You don’t think I can handle this. I don’t belong here.”
He grabs my shoulders, his fingers hard on my skin. “Exactly. The fact that you don’t belong here is a good thing, Harlow. This is a shitty, mean, ugly place, and you? You’re beautiful. You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. And you’re a kind, decent person. Which is why I want you to get whoever’s in charge of this mess and let me get you all out of here.”
“No.” I say it loudly.
“No?” He paces, balls his hands into fists, shakes them, and mutters what’s probably a whole lot of very bad words. “What the hell is your idiot plan, then?”
“I’m going in there. And I’m going to dance. And I’m going to leave. And it’s not going to be nearly as bad as you think it will be. I can be in your world, Gunner. I can.” I walk over to kiss him and he grabs me hard by the face, kissing me roughly. He tears his mouth away