Page 19 of Red Card (Prescott University #1)

Rory

T he roar of Cillian’s motorcycle in front of my apartment has a bubble of apprehension settling in the base of my throat, my stomach doing a series of incessant flips.

I may have had a slightly dramatic, teeny intrusive moment where I texted him in a flurry of mass panic.

Well, I guess it’s too late to turn back now seeing as how he’s… already here.

Seconds later there’s a loud pounding at the front door. I rush over, nearly tripping over my feet to wrench the door open.

He’s standing on the doorstep, slightly winded and eyes wide as he says, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He scans my body as if he’s searching for something wrong. “You said it was an emergency. SOS? ”

I wince. “I mean technically it is an emergency?”

His concerned gaze connects with mine, suddenly turning steely. “What do you mean technically ?”

I reach out, grasp the front of his T-shirt, and pull him inside.

The space between his brows is furrowed, and he looks confused and still a little worried. I feel bad for worrying him but also this is an emergency. I didn’t know who else to call so I called him.

Which is kind of weird… the fact that he’s the person I thought about when something happened, but I don’t have time to unpack that right now.

He’s the one giving me lessons, so he’s the only one who can help with this.

I think?

Yes.

“So clearly I’m not hurt, or dying, and there’s not an intruder or anything, but to me this still qualifies as an emergency,” I say to Cillian once we’re in the living room. “Can you just, um, sit there please?”

I point to the cream armchair, and he gives me a blank stare, completely unmoving. Not even an inch.

I exhale noisily. “I’m sorry. I realize I should not have said ‘SOS,’ or I should’ve at least warned you that nothing serious was wrong. I just… was having a freakout, and you’re the first person I thought to call about this.”

He runs his hand through his still-damp hair, and I realize he must have been in the shower or fresh out of it when I texted. “Christ, St. James. What the fuck’s going on?”

My teeth rake over my bottom lip before I pull it between them, chewing nervously. I think my palms are actually sweating right now. I haven’t been this nervous in a long time.

He’s going to think this is so stupid, and now I think it might have been a ridiculous idea to begin with.

“One second,” I breathe, turning to sprint to my bedroom and gather the armful of packages I’ve been hoarding for the past week. When I return to the living room, Cillian’s on the couch, his tattooed arms spread along the back, staring at The Office , which I had playing on the TV.

I walk to the center of the living room and drop the packages on the floor in front of him.

His dark brow arches as he takes in the pile, clearly confused. “What is this?”

“These are packages.”

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously, Rory. Can you fill me in on what the hell is going on? Because you’re not making a bit of sense right now.”

Dropping to my knees on the carpet, I pick one up and wrestle to get through the thick plastic of the poly mailer.

“So the other day I started thinking about the fact that I’ve never really tried to, you know, wear dresses and makeup and things like that.

And it’s not because I don’t want to, it’s just I don’t really know where to start. ”

Finally, I pop a hole in the plastic and rip it open, then pull out the satin dress inside.

It’s… pink. Which is obviously not a color I wear often, but I think I kind of love this shade?

I unfold the dress and hold it up for Cillian to see.

“I followed this girl online who’s a fashion influencer and well, then that sent me down a rabbit hole and per usual I hyperfixated and, long story short, I’ve decided to try out a new wardrobe.

Kind of. This is one of them. What do you think?

Is it ugly? This is stupid, isn’t it? I knew it pro—”

“Rory.” His voice is rough, raspy, and low as he cuts me off. “It’s not ugly. Or stupid. Put it on.”

My brow furrows. “Really?”

He nods.

I rise from the floor and head to my bedroom, quickly removing my clothes and slipping into the soft pink dress. Once it’s on, I run to the mirror in the corner of my room, and when I see my reflection, my jaw drops.

Holy shit.

The soft material hugs the dip of my waist, the swell of my breasts, the curve of my thighs, all the places that I never seem to pay much attention to since I’m always in a baggy hoodie or my workout clothes.

But in this?

They’re impossible to ignore, and as much as I thought I probably wouldn’t like wearing a dress, let alone a pink one, I wanted to step out of my comfort zone and try something new.

And I’m actually glad I did.

I exhale shakily, running my palms down the front of the dress as I take one last glance at my reflection before I walk back to the living room to face Cillian.

His gaze lifts when I walk in the room, and his dark eyes widen briefly, his lips parting.

It’s almost as if something… flares in the depths. I’m not entirely sure, and I can’t read his expression, but I think he doesn’t hate it.

In an attempt to dislodge the nervous lump in my throat, I clear it and spin in a circle with my hands out. “What do you think?”

“Bloody hell, St. James.” His voice is a husky whisper.

“Is that a good ‘bloody hell’ or a bad one because I honestly can’t tell the difference sometimes.” I laugh, but the nervous sound dies on my tongue when his gaze lazily glides down my body.

As if he’s drinking me in, every single inch, slowly, one at a time.

And suddenly I feel as if I’m standing completely naked in front of him even though I’m fully clothed.

There’s a silent, torturously slow pause before he says, “A good one.”

I’m not sure what kind of reaction I was anticipating, but this was not it, and it makes me feel… good.

I decide I like that he’s making me feel that way. A lot.

“Okay… good,” I respond.

His lips curve. “Great.”

“So does that mean I should try on the others?” I ask as I lean down and scoop up a handful of the packages.

He makes another slow perusal before nodding and raking a hand through his dark hair. I watch his throat bob with a rough swallow.

For some strange reason, my heart is thrashing in my chest. Maybe it’s the attention from Cillian, or maybe it’s something… different.

Something new that I’ve never felt before.

“Okay. Uh, I’ll be right back,” I say, giving him a small smile as I sprint from the living room.

That was… interesting. Maybe I’m just being weird, but it feels like my brain is moving at the speed of light, and by the time I get to my bedroom and shut the door, slamming my back against it, I’m almost breathless.

My head falls back against the wood with a loud thump at the same time a rushed exhale bursts out of me.

It takes a few seconds for me to calm my racing pulse and shallow bursts of my breathing, but then I move to my bed and set the rest of the packages on top. My fingertips slip beneath the hem of the dress I’m wearing and tug it over my head, tossing it to the side.

The next mailer I open contains another dress, but this one is… extremely tiny and now that I’m seeing it up close, I have no idea why I even ordered it in the first place.

It looked so hot on the model, and I thought I could maybe pull it off. But now that I’m staring at the leather material, I’m having serious second thoughts.

I don’t even know if I can fit my thigh in this thing.

There’s absolutely no way I can wear this bra with the dress since it’s strapless and probably going to fit like a second skin, so I reach behind me and unhook it, throwing it on top of the previously discarded dress on the floor.

Okay, now to get this thing on.

It takes me ten minutes to even work it up to my hips, but I somehow squeeze into the tight, unyielding material. Then I realize… if it’s taking me this long to get it on , then how in the hell am I going to get it off ? Something tells me that it’ll be even harder to remove.

It’s so tight I’m pretty sure you can see the outline of my belly button.

Sweat coats my hairline by the time I pull it up over my chest, the tight leather barely covering the tops of my nipples before it stops completely.

My God, Rory, what were you thinking?

This is built for bodies that are not shaped like yours.

I can’t suck in a breath in this thing.

Taking a couple tiny steps at a time, I turn toward the door and realize there’s no way I’m making it another step.

I slip my fingers beneath the hem and try to tug it down, but it doesn’t budge.

A single inch.

Groaning, I pull harder. Nothing.

Another thing I clearly underestimated? The fact that leather makes you sweat . And even with the sweat forming underneath the dress, making my body damp and slick, it’s not going anywhere.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Maybe I need to go from the top? I slip my fingers beneath the fabric cups of the dress and try to pull them down but I can barely get my fingers in the impossibly tight space.

In the shuffle, I fall against my dresser, knocking over a picture frame and a trinket tray from the top, making the heavy wood hit the wall behind it.

Great, I’m going to end up having to go to the hospital or something because I got stuck in a leather dress like some type of dominatrix.

“Everything okay in there?” Cillian’s smooth, deep voice sounds from the other side of the door, and I suck in a sharp breath.

As big of a breath as I can in this… contraption.

“Um… well, that depends on the definition of okay ?” I call back.

A beat passes before he says, “Elaborate, St. James.”

I sigh. “Just open the door, and don’t say a freakin’ word, Cillian.”

A few seconds later, the hinges of my bedroom door creak as it opens and he strides through. When he sees me leaning against the dresser with my palms shoved in the front of the dress, seemingly holding my boobs, he just lifts a brow, blinking slowly as he takes in the scene in front of him.