Page 44 of The Renegade Billionaire

The door slowly slides open to reveal the crooked smile that makes my entire body run hot. Braxton Mitchell is too handsome, too kind, too…everything.

“Ah, hey?” he says shyly, waving uncomfortably in the air at my friends. “Pops said you ladies need a ride to the Firefly.”

“Yes,” Clover says as Savvy grumbles something about eavesdropping that has Braxton’s face turning all shades of red.

“We don’t really?—”

“If we’ve got a designated driver, we might as well take advantage. Plus, when’s the last time you let everything go and just danced for a little while?” Elle levels me with a mischievous smirk. “Brax, did you know Madi loves to dance? Especially at bonfire parties. The hometown sweetheart can shake her ass like no other.”

“Just shoot me now. Seriously, right now would be great.” Groaning, I drop my face into my hands. “I’m not the hometown sweetheart, I can’t even match myself, for crying out loud.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t found the right partner.” Braxton’s tone drops to that dangerous level I’ve only heard directed at me, and it sets fire to the alcohol coursing through my system until I’m buzzing from head to toe. “But the dancing? Now that’s something I’d be happy to see.”

“Give us ten minutes to get dressed and we’ll meet you outside.” Savvy pulls me to standing and then drags me toward the stairs behind Elle, who waddles faster than I’ve seen her move in a while.

“You really don’t have to do this,” I tell him on my way by.

“Oh, Madison. I’m really looking forward to it. Trust me.” His gaze seems to drink me in, and I shiver.

“This is a mistake,” I hiss in Savvy’s ear.

“Why, because you’ll have fun? Because a very hot stranger is already giving you come-fuck-me eyes? Or because you know both of those things are true?”

Why don’t I just say no? It’s as though I’m allergic to that one little word, but I know I’m going dancing because I don’t want to disappoint my friends.

“Geez, Sav.” Clover slips into my room behind us. “You don’t have to put her on the spot. Let’s just go dancing and see what happens.” She hiccups, and it turns into a giggle fit that I adore.

Clover doesn’t laugh very often, and it always makes me sad—escaping a cult at fourteen and losing her best friend in the process broke her in ways I’m not sure she’ll ever recover from.

My friends raid my closet, not that anything I have will fit them. Elle has perfected the baby bump, and Cian made sure she had every outfit she would ever need. Savvy is tall and slender, where Clover and I are on the petite side.

Well, Clover’s too thin. The word frail has been used to describe her more than once. It’s as though all the weight she’s carried on her shoulders has taken her strength and she has nothing left for herself.

No matter how hard we try, we’ve never been able to get to the demons at her core. I fear there’s only one person who will ever be able to get through to her, and that’s her childhood friend, Valen. The one she sends letters to every week. And the one whose responses are seriously lacking.

“Put this on,” Savvy says, tossing me my favorite denim skirt with a pretty yellow flowy top.

In the corner, Clover is picking up my favorite sparkly cowgirl boots.

“I’m fine going in this.” I protest, pointing to my leggings and oversized T-shirt.

“No. Get dressed, and then we’ll do your hair.” Savvy’s using herdo not mess with metone, but I’ve had a full glass of wine and feel the rumble of my stubborn streak as it flares.

I’m about to ask what they’re going to wear when I realize that they’re all dressed as though the plan had been to hit up the Firefly all along.

“Am I the only one who missed the memo that we were going out tonight?” I lift my T-shirt over my head and replace it with the shirt Savvy threw at me.

“It’s Friday night,” Elle says with a shrug. “And it’s Cole Swindell night.”

“Plus, you’ve been wound so tight we’re afraid you’ll snap. Nothing settles your mind like dancing, so that’s what we’re doing.” Savvy makes one last sweep of my closet, and when she’s sure she’s picked the right outfit, she spins, lifts her sweatshirt over her head, and crosses her arms. She’s wearing a beautiful red tube top with cutoff shorts that make her legs look impossibly long.

Clover removes the blanket but tugs her cardigan close while buttoning it up to the top. Her skinny jeans stop at the ankles, and she’s wearing cute little tennis shoes. Elle sits on my bed, rubbing her belly through her tank top with one hand and waving a wrapper in the other.

“Where the heck did you find a Pop-Tart?” Her pregnancy is enough to make me hungry.

Elle smirks and holds up her bag. “Cian filled it up for me before I left.”

I’m pulling off my leggings when Clover grabs a front section of my hair and quickly twists it into a French braid that sits across the top of my head and disappears into the hair behind my ear. It’s her go-to style for me, and I love it.