_OceanofPDF

shredded and fringed with the loose threads, detailed in destruction, but the
way she wore it was what was stunning. It was a skin, not a mask.
Only when I saw her smile did I notice she was talking to Mike Monroe.
Smarmy little fuck in Gucci loafers and a Tennessee accent. Trimmed
beard and big silver belt buckle. The guy didn’t know who he was or where
he belonged. No wonder he thought he could hit on my wife.
“Mike,” I said, meeting them between the elevator and my abandoned
drink.
“Logan.” Wide smile. Narrow handshake.
“Where’s Twyla?” It came out like an accusation.
“Headache. Y’all know how it is.”
“I don’t,” I said, putting my arm around Ella’s shoulder and laying my
hand on the back of her neck. “Tell me about it.”
“You got a few hours?” he joked with a light punch to my arm. “You
need a drink?”
“I’m good.”
“Ella?” He raised one eyebrow at her. I wanted to rip it off and gag him
with it.
“Gin and ice. Gunpowder Irish, if they have it.”
Mike gave her a nod I liked about as much as the raised eyebrow and
went to the bar.
“Take it easy on him,” Ella said.
“I am taking it easy on him.”
“Then stop talking like Darth Vader.”
I looked down, not cowed but searching for a new topic of conversation,
and my eyes found the place where her breasts met her neckline. “That
dress—is that the one you wore to Crowne Jewels?”
Her smile lit all of Downtown. “Not anymore. You like it?”
“I'm not a fashion critic,” I said, “but I like you in it.”
“Thank you.” She swung her hips to make the skirt twirl.
I pulled her into me so I could speak softly, to her alone. “And it’s going
to look better when I pull it up to spread your legs.”
“Logan”—she nudged me—“we’re in public.”
“What do you have under it? Because I’m destroying anything between
you and my cock.”
She covered her mouth, cheeks erupting in pink.