Hold On (The 'Burg #6)(80)

“No, the red,” Meems contradicted. “That’s hot.”

“Green. Her hair, her eyes, it’s gotta be the green,” Josie put in.

I looked to Vi, then I looked to Feb.

None of us said anything.

But I had a feeling they knew exactly how bad my eyes were burning.

And they knew it hurt.

But they also knew that for a girl like me—a girl whose life turned to shit, but I made it through to stand in a small office in a small bar in a small town with women who had golden souls—that hurt felt good.

Chapter Eleven

No Pressure

Garrett

The next night, Garrett walked up Cher’s walk and he did it with his eyes to her front door, the lights inside illuminating the diamond window and coming muted through her front curtains.

He felt something and looked to his left to see a man two houses over, moving down his walk.

His head was turned.

His eyes were on Garrett.

It was dark, the man didn’t have his front light on¸ and there was distance so Garrett couldn’t see him well. But he was also a cop, so what he saw didn’t sit good in his gut.

It wasn’t the way he was dressed. It wasn’t the beat-up, rusted-out old Chevy truck he was moving toward at the curb.

It wasn’t anything.

But it was something.

He looked forward to jog up the steps of Cher’s stoop, glad that he knew Cher was a woman who would also feel that something vibe from her neighbor and keep herself and her kid well away.

He knocked.

She didn’t make him wait.

She opened the door, and light behind her, front light on, he saw her top to toe.

And he went still.

“I’m ready,” she said, opening the storm door and swinging it his way. His body jerked and he caught it before it hit him in the face. “Just gotta finish switching out purses.”

She left him to open the door fully and disappeared inside.

Garrett stepped in, the door whispering then banging behind him, his eyes to Cher bending over the coffee table, ass pointed his way, switching shit out of a big slouchy purse into a small sleek one.

He barely noticed what she was doing.

His attention was focused on her ass.

Then it was on her legs.

After that, her shoes.

She straightened and turned to him.

That was when he got hit with all of her again, full-on.

Her dress was green. Not a bright green—kelly, emerald, shit like that. Not forest green either. It was dark, though, and the color looked great on her.

It was also skintight, from just above her knees all the way to the little sleeves that capped at the top of her arms. High neckline, a kind of gather or pleat at the side of her tits that gave them room to be there but held them up, somehow disguising them at the same time pronouncing them.

The dress gave nothing away while showing every-f*cking-thing, every curve, line, swell, and angle, all the goodness that was Cher, subdued yet highlighted to extremes.

And he’d seen the back. The front was high, but the back dipped low to her bra strap.

So the dress had to be tight to hold her all in, especially her breasts.

Tight in good ways.

Her makeup was more than what she usually wore to the bar, deeper in a sexy way that would make her seem mysterious if he didn’t know her and just clapped eyes on her.

Her hair wasn’t the same as how she did it to go to work either, but he couldn’t put his finger on how. It was down as usual. It was full as usual. But it looked like she’d done more with it.

Big gold earrings, lots of bangles on her wrists, a huge-ass ring on her middle right finger, her feet in sandals with a shit-ton of straps so thin, he had no idea how she could walk without them snapping. They were green but covered in tiny rhinestones that didn’t sparkle, they just embellished, so they looked class not trash. The heel was tall and lethal, Garrett never meeting a woman who could go as high as Cher did and make it look like she was in flip-flops. But those she had on now were even higher.

He made the instant decision they’d stay on later when he f*cked her.

Christ.

“Merry?”

He looked from her shoes to her face.

“You look phenomenal, baby.”

Her body jolted so badly, that shit was visible, her head going with it, her hair swaying with the movement.

Then she seemed stuck, frozen, staring at him like she’d never seen him or any breathing male in her life.

When she stayed like that, it was his turn to call, “Cher?”

She seemed to force herself out of her stupor, and the instant she did, she was on the move.

Snatching up some wrap from her chair, she marched woodenly to the door, announcing tersely, “We gotta go.”

She was out the door before he could say a word, and when he made it to that space, he saw her standing on the stoop, holding her storm door open for him, looking like she was fighting against tapping her toe.

He moved out, closing the front door behind him, and she charged in, shoving up against him to get in the space, key up to lock it.

Fuck, she also smelled good.

Real good.

“Cher,” he said quietly.

“Let’s go,” she demanded, turning, skirting him, and hauling her ass down the walk before he could grab her hand, seeing as he had to use it to catch the storm door she’d moved out of because it was about to knock him off the stoop.