Page 134 of Silas

“Wait,Legends of the Fall?” Myka asks, looking at Annika, puzzled. “Really?”

She just shrugs. “What? Brad Pitt is hot as fuckballs in that movie.”

“Who’s hot as fuckballs?” Chance rumbles.

“You are, baby,” Annika calls.

Naomi is utterly baffled. “No, I haven’t seen any of those movies.”

Anjalee, bringing up the rear as the girls drag Naomi into Myka and Rev’s room, leans up against Naomi’s back. “Do not be worrying, new friend, I have not seen any of these movies either.”

“Well that’s just a travesty,” Myka grumps. “Rev, we’re gonna need wine, popcorn, Kleenex, and some chocolate. Stat.”

Rev grumbles under his breath but sets about gathering the requested materials.

The guys, for their part, do the male version of what the girls just pulled—hauling me with rough male affection toward the couches and shoving a bottle of Blanton’s at me.

“Drink,” Chance orders. “And talk.”

I laugh as I take a healthy slug and then set about relating the events of the last…I don’t even know how many days. A week, maybe? It feels like a lifetime ago that I was driving away from Mom and Dad’s funeral, morose, lonely, and lost.

God, look at me now. Crazy how drastically life can change in a matter of days.

* * *

Hours later,the guys and I have talked the whole thing to death and have turned on an eighties action flick, something obscure featuring a young Stallone. The girls are still holed up in Rev and Myka’s room, and we’ve heard oohs and ahhs and gasps and riotous laughter.

Finally, the door opens. I turn and glance, waiting for a look at Naomi.

When she appears, my breath is stolen.

She’s wearing a thin, opaque white slip, the hem brushing her thighs indecently high. The neck is cut in a deep, deep V, baring a mouthwatering expanse of her chest.

Her hair is loose—and has been cut way back, to her shoulders. It’s wavy, loose, and brushed to a shine. There’s, like, layers to it or something, not bangs, but…shit, I don’t know. I just know it’s way different, and hot as fuck. Her fingernails are bloodred, as are her toes. She’s wearing makeup, too. I don’t know what all, but it’s tasteful and subtle, and the effect is dramatic.

She was fucking gorgeous before, naturally, but now? Jesus.

I hear throats clearing, and the movie shuts off.

“I gotta…um.” Chance lumbers to his feet and shuffles toward the gym.

The others follow, and I hear hard rock blast from the gym speakers, the lights kicking on.

We’re alone.

She just stands there in the hall, staring at me. Hesitant, unsure of her new look.

I shoot to my feet and vault over the couch, too impatient to waste time walking around.

I jog to her and halt inches away, wanting to crush her to myself. I don’t, mindful of her ribs.

“Jesus,” I whisper. “Didn’t think it was possible for you to get any fuckin’ hotter, but…damn.”

A smile touches the corners of her lips. “You like it?” She touches the ends of her hair. “I’m not sure. I’ve never had a haircut before.”

I brush my fingers through the soft, clean waves, now at least six inches shorter. “Goddamned perfect.”

“You thought that before,” she whispers.