Page 32

THIRTY

JACKSON

Fuck. My. Life.

Not only am I standing—stone fucking sober—in the middle of a ballroom wearing an overstuffed pair of overalls, a fake mustache, and a stupid floppy hat, but Arden isn’t even here yet. I showed up to the party on time, expecting the girls to be here, only to get a text shortly after saying they were running behind. It’s been almost an hour, and there’s still no sign of my Princess Peach.

“You good, bro?” Riggs says from beside me, a bottle of beer hanging haphazardly from his fingers. I can’t even look at the jacked motherfucker in his gladiator costume without wanting to punch him. He looks fucking awesome .

“I’m fine. Where are they?” He pulls his phone from God knows where—since he’s only wearing a pair of leather hoochie-daddy shorts and a red cape—and opens his text app. I lean back onto the bar, tapping my giant black shoe against the marble floor impatiently while he types out a message.

“Monroe said they’ll be here in five,” he replies just as Ace sidles up beside us in his cheetah print loincloth, every rippling muscle in his body on full display as I try not to roundhouse kick him directly in the nuts. “Maybe we should wait outside for them.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “And risk someone taking a picture of me in this getup while you guys all look like Greek gods? Not a chance.”

“Why’d you wear it if you hate it so much?” Ace asks.

A sly smile flashes across Riggs’ face as he looks around to make sure nobody else is in earshot. “It’s the power of the pussy,” he says quietly, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a sip. “They can get us to do anything for them and they know it. Last week, Monroe spent thirty-five thousand dollars on a purse because it spoke to her .”

My jaw drops. “What did you say about it?”

“Nothing,” he replies, raising a brow. “She showed me her tits and all of a sudden, I wasn’t mad anymore. That’s how they get us.”

Ace laughs, nodding his head in agreement. Not that I’d expect him to disagree. Lark could tell him to get on his knees and bark like a dog right here with hundreds of witnesses, and he’d do it without a second thought.

I roll my eyes. “I wore it because, unlike you guys, we can’t be open about our relationship right now. Our parents are coming to visit next weekend, but we’re laying low until we talk to them. So, if this is the only way I can make her feel like I’m loving her out loud”—I pat my hands on my stupid, giant stomach before giving it an exaggerated shake—“I’ll do it.”

“We get it,” Riggs says, his eyes softening. “She’s lucky to have you. Hawk, too.” The sentiment makes warmth spread through me, because I realize how lucky we are to have friends that are supportive of our relationship with Arden. I know it’s unconventional, but she makes us both really fucking happy, and knowing that they’re behind us feels good. He looks around, surveying the room. “Where is he, anyway?”

I scan the crowd. We arrived in separate cars because he needed some extra time to get ready, and I haven’t seen him yet. I’m honestly shocked he’s dressing up at all. Last year, he showed up in black jeans and a matching hoodie, only staying for about thirty minutes before he disappeared. It was pretty on-brand for him—at least until Arden loosened him up a little bit. He’s been a different person since she moved in, and I’m glad they both have someone that makes them feel seen and understood.

“No idea. Probably changing into the coolest, most badass costume we’ve ever seen.” I grimace, using my fingertips to forcefully press the corners of my stupid mustache onto my skin. It’s been coming unglued all night, and if it weren’t for the fact that it’s going to make my girl smile when she sees me, it would already be in the trash.

Just as I’m about to venture through the party in search of my best friend, motion near the entrance catches my attention. Monroe struts through the open doors in a short white dress with a flowing cape and golden rope tied strategically around her torso. Metal arm cuffs match her shining gold leaf headpiece, and high stiletto sandals lace all the way up her thighs. Riggs chokes on his beer as he takes her in, frozen in place while she heads his way.

Behind her is Lark, wearing a bright yellow dress with a blue ribbon decorating the neck. Unlike Jane in the Tarzan movies, hers only hits her upper thighs, with a little white ruffle peeking out from underneath. Brown high heels adorn her feet, and I laugh to myself when I think about Ace in his loincloth. What a fucking oversight on his part, because I don’t even have to look at the guy to know he’s rocking a half-chub right now.

But none of that matters when Arden steps into the room, sucking every bit of oxygen right out of it. Everything around me stops when she starts walking my way, and I swallow thickly as I take her in. She’s fucking stunning in a pink and white short-sleeved bodysuit that showcases every inch of the mouthwatering thighs I’d sell my soul to be trapped between right now. A big, floppy bow hangs from the low lace neckline, where her supple tits peek out just enough to have my heart stopping in my chest. White satin gloves climb up her arms, and a small gold crown sits on top of her head, her long, flowing brown hair falling in waves down her back. I have no idea how I’m going to get through this night without putting my hands on her. I knew her costume was a lot different from the cheaply made ankle-length one she wore when we were kids, but I certainly wasn’t expecting her to look like a goddamn smoke show when I can’t touch or kiss her.

“Fuck, Princess,” I say quietly as she loops her arms around my neck. I wrap her up, trying my best to keep the hug as platonic-looking as possible when all I really want is to claim her in front of everyone here. I can’t fucking wait until I can show the world she belongs to me. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

She pulls back, her eyes sliding up and down my body. “You’re not so bad, yourself.” She tucks her lips over her teeth in an attempt to hide her smile, and any frustration I was feeling earlier melts away because all I care about is making her happy. “I do need one thing, though.”

I shake my head rapidly, taking a small step back. As much as I’d love to hold her for longer, there are some reporters here, and I don’t want to take any chances. “Absolutely not.”

“Jacks, you have to!” she whines, stomping her white stiletto against the floor as she pouts. Her arms cross over her chest, pushing her tits up even more as if she’s fully aware of what that does to me.

“No,” I protest, pointing a finger her way. “You’re lucky you got me into this thing at all. I’m not doing it.” She can beg all she wants. I will not embarrass myself any further.

She bats her lashes, pushing out her plump lower lip, and I feel my foundation start to crumble before the words even break through the air between us. “Please? For me?”

Son of a motherfucking fuck.

Our friends watch the exchange, eyes wide as if it’s the most riveting thing they’ve ever seen. Sweat beads at the back of my neck, and I nervously shift from one foot to the other before clearing my throat and giving her what she wants.

“ It’s-a-me, Mario ,” I mumble so quietly, the sound barely even filters through the goddamn caterpillar that’s hanging over my mouth. I narrow my gaze, letting her know that she’s in fucking trouble when we get home, but she doubles down, cupping a hand behind her ear and turning her head.

“What? I couldn’t hear you.” She folds her hands in front of her, swaying back and forth with a look of innocence plastered across her face. As much as I know I should stay strong, I fucking can’t. The little brat owns me, and she knows it.

“It’s-a-me! Mario!” I shout. Her eyes sparkle with amusement for several seconds before she finally breaks, and the sweet sound of her laughter swirls around us. I shove my tongue into my cheek, shaking my head in faux annoyance because there’s no way I could ever really be mad at her. Especially not in that costume.

“What a fucking simp,” Riggs quips, hiding a cocky grin behind his bottle as he takes another pull of beer. I slide my scowl in his direction, flipping him off before bringing my attention back to my girl.

“Anyway,” I say, changing direction. “Have you heard from Hawk? I haven’t seen him, and I don’t know what he’s wearing.”

“No,” she replies, looking around. “He said he’d be a little la—” She’s cut off when two large, tattooed hands slip around her waist. He pulls her into him, hovering the mouth of his Ghostface mask over her ear.

“Hey there, Hellcat. What’s your favorite scary movie?”