“How’s it looking?”
“Hot,” I said.
The girl laughed. “Sounds like he’s enjoying the view.”
“You could say that,” Chelsea managed with three of my fingers inside her. “I might just need a minute. It’s a tight fit.”
“She’s right,” I added.
“Oh. Okay,” the girl said. She sounded cheerily unaware of what we were doing. “I’ll check back on you two lovebirds in a little. It’s so cute when boyfriends want to be in the dressing room.”
“Boyfriend,” Chelsea mouthed, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
She looked between her legs where I was still knuckle deep in her pussy. “Do as you say, not as you do?”
I grimaced, then pulled my hand out of her. Without looking away from her, I brought my fingers to my mouth and licked them clean. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Chelsea shivered, then let out a breath she’d apparently been holding. “Maybe I should actually try this on?”
“Probably.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at it and felt my blood run cold when I saw the name.
Trish: Heard you’re in Savannah today. You wouldn’t happen to be trying to steal Trevor Castle from under my nose, would you?
I shoved my phone back in my pocket. Chelsea was watching me with furrowed eyebrows. “Everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” I snapped.
She looked like she wanted to ask more, but she quietly slipped on the dress, and neither of us brought it up again.
But I couldn’t quite get it out of my head. Trish was probably here. In Savannah. What would she do if I landed Trevor’s contract, anyway? Follow through on her threats from when she left?
Part of me almost wanted to. Part of me was so damn tired of letting her hold it over my head.
I decided to enjoy the moment I was in; not whatever cold hell Trish might bring on me down the line. I currently had an unfiltered view of Chelsea’s ass and the tight little mound of her pussy against her panties as she bent down to pick up the next dress in line.
Yeah. I could get used to looking at that.
24
Chelsea
Trevor Castle was the new king of the tennis world. I’d seen his matches on TV and his highlights on the sports channels. Even though I’d already brushed shoulders with a few incredibly famous names, including Damon’s own brother, Chris, this was different.
I’d idolized Trevor, even back when I was fifteen and hearing stories of the high school kid who was already cracking his way into the top ranks of the USTA. I’d admittedly had a small crush on him back then, too, but so did every other girl with a functioning reproductive system.
And now I was sitting with him and Damon Rose at a white tablecloth dining table. We’d been given the solitary table on a roof side balcony with beautiful stonework and candles. Gentle music trickled out the French doors from the dining room, and the air was saturated with the scent of melted butter and herbs.
I was salivating, and I wasn’t sure if it was entirely because of the food.
Trevor joined us a little late, which meant I’d got to sit in tense silence with Damon for several minutes while we waited. I wasn’t sure if he was pissed that I’d insisted on coming, or if he was jealous. He might’ve even been dwelling on whatever that message on his phone had been. Ever since he’d glanced at his phone in the changing room, he’d been in a dark mood—even by Damon standards.
I’d been chipping away at my resolution to stay detached since last night. Step one was when his penis arrived on the scene. Step two was when he practically made my heart explode—against its better judgment, for the record. It wasn’t anything he said in particular, but it was in the subtle change I’d been sensing. Damon was softening toward me. He was opening up in his own way, and I knew enough to know that made me different than everyone else with him. It made me special.
It also forced me to face the fact that I needed to find a way to tell him about Luna. When Damon was the grumpy bosshole with no heart, I hardly felt guilty for keeping the secret. Now, things were changing so quickly it already felt like I’d waited too long. Five years too long.
“You okay?” Trevor asked. He casually popped a chunk of bread in his mouth and chewed, watching me closely.
Trevor was dusty blond haired, clean shaven, young, and covered in lithe muscle. He was beautiful, but in an entirely different way than Damon. Trevor had easy looks. They were the kind you could trust—at least for a fling. He was the prototypical hook-up guy. Too wild and free to tie down, but too good natured to mistrust.
Then there was Damon. I looked at him again as he brooded across from Trevor. He’d dressed in a sharp suit that highlighted all the serious edges he had. Damon was rugged and coarse. He was dark and confusing.
If the two of them were movies, Trevor was the blockbuster hit that you’d probably forget a week after watching it, even though you enjoyed the ride. Damon was the indie flick loaded with enough twists and turns to keep it in your head forever.
“I’m great, yeah,” I said. Prove to Damon that you can do a good job at this. Be personable. Win him over. “I saw your match last weekend. That comeback was incredible. It might’ve been the most amazing thing I’ve seen on a court all year.”
I couldn’t quite tell from the corner of my view, but I was almost certain Damon rolled his eyes.
“Thanks,” Trevor flashed a confident smile. “Truth was I was shitting myself the whole time. Gerard has always had my number, especially on clay.”
I nodded. “But you still have the edge on him historically. Last time I looked
