I didn’t really imagine anything specific when Haley said she and Mylo were doing some twin thing tonight, but I don’t know, I expected t-shirts and jeans.
Not Mylo draped in a charcoal silk slip dress, making my tongue jealous of the planes it skims, tracing his slender waist and those hips I want to sink my fingers into.
His hair, feathered to fall in his face, and subtle glam makeup are certainly not helping one iota. Fuck, I shouldn’t have picked up my third beer so soon.
I hardly notice Haley at his side, looking nearly identical. When her elbow gently brushes his, a growl rises in my chest, drowned out by the party’s loud chatter.
Lisa nudges me, startling me back into my skin. “It’s how you look at each other,” she says simply, and when I protest, she waves me off. “I didn’t say anything. Enjoy,ma chérie.”
Watching her saunter away distracts me enough that when I straighten again, Mylo’s scent and proximity hit me all at once.
He leans against the counter next to me. My eyes drop to where the silk flows over his chest, catching subtly on his nipples.
It’s as if he chose this outfit specifically to torture me.
And, knowing Mylo, he absolutely did.
“What do you think?” he asks lightly.
“I think I told you to stay out of trouble,” I purr, eyes dragging down over his hips and legs to a strappy kitten heel. God, even his feet are cute.
Mylo’s answer is just a smirk that shows he knows exactly how hot he is.
The appeal of a woman in a suit has long been appreciated; it’s a travesty that the same recognition isn’t given to the particular deliciousness of a boy in a dress.
I’m almost too distracted to notice how he eyes my ripped black jeans, white tee, and moto jacket. I may have decided to lean in after he drooled over me in leather.
“So, I heard it’s an open bar?” Mylo asks, like a challenge. I’d like to see him try to out-drink me—if he wasn’t stubborn enough to land himself in the hospital.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He scans the bar. “What do they have?”
“What do you want?” I repeat.
Mylo’s eyes narrow. “Iwantwhatever white wine is already open, and failing that, a vodka soda. At the bartender’s convenience.”
I make a face. “You’re no fun.” I turn and raise a hand, beckoning the bartender. He finishes topping off a glass with soda, then comes right over.
Sometimes I do enjoy my celebrity.
“A glass of something red, local, and bold,” I command. “Crack a new bottle. Something you’re not supposed to serve tonight.” I slide a purplish bill across the counter, marked50and with some mustachioed man on it. Kiwi dollars always feel like Monopoly money, and I spend them as freely. “They’ll know exactly who to yell at when they see it on the bill, and it won’t be you.” I wink.
The bartender grins and slides the cash into his pocket. “Anything else?”
I glance over at Mylo. “A Mai Tai.”
“Coming right up.”
I lean back against the bar, and Mylo just stares at me, incredulous.
“No complaints?” I tease. “Really? I thought for sure you’d have a comment.”
Mylo huffs, and it’s the cutest fucking thing. “I havetoo manycomments. You can’t just order me a Mai Tai because of that stupid nickname?—”
“Oh? No, the Mai Tai’s for me. I’m in the mood for something… citrus and sweet.”
Right on cue, a bright blush spreads across his cheeks, belying his glower. “I don’t even like red wine, so it’ll be a waste,” he mutters.
