London Falling (Falling #2)(33)
Tripp was the best thing I could ever hope or wish for in a best friend. He was kind, loving, more concerned about my needs than his own and a tiger in the sack, though we promised no more of that. We have kept that promise for the past year aside from the little handy a couple weeks ago. We’ve both been on our best behavior. Our friendship has never been stronger. He threw an arm over my shoulders and walked us to my room.
“So what’s this guy Dylan’s problem, anyway? Besides that he’s no longer getting laid by you, poor guy. That makes two of us.” He pouted, sticking his full pink lip out, looking adorable.
I narrowed my eyes at him and pulled some clothes from the closet. “Believe it or not, he actually needs to be a bachelor. A real bachelor. Live on the wild side, have some parties, experience life. He’s too stuck on being a goodie-two-shoes.”
Without paying attention, I grabbed a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top that crisscrossed in the back.
Tripp shook his head and grabbed the blouse from my hands. “You can’t wear that, unless you’re putting this sheer thing over it.” He held out a teal and purple peacock inspired blouse. It looked best with a tank under it but sometimes I rocked a teal bra and showed off my assets.
He didn’t normally make a point of picking out my clothes. That sounded more like Aspen’s bestie, Oliver, not mine. Her BFF moonlighted as her personal assistant, fashion stylist, and second in command of her company. Tripp was more man than she-man. Women’s clothing was not his thing unless he was stripping it off said woman.
“What do you mean I can’t wear this?” I pulled the white silky tank from his grip.
“Are you trying to confuse the guy? You know longer want to f*ck him, but this says ’Here, look at my perfect tits in this top.’ It’s cruel, Bridge.” He grasped the peacock shirt and tank and shoved it into my chest. “Give the guy a break and cover up the precious, will ya?”
I laughed. “You did not just call my boobs ’the precious,’ Tripp Devereaux!”
“Oh yes, I did. I’ve had them every which way you can get ‘em and they are worth all the gold in China and then some.” He put his hands under each globe to test their weight. “Yup. And still perky as hell.”
“Cut it out!” I smacked his hands away. “I’ll wear the damn blouse, okay? Jeez, you’re worse than my mother. I don’t know why I put up with you,” I grumbled and threw on the tank, adjusted my boobs and slipped on the sheer overlay. The deep purples, teals and blues contrasted with my black hair and light eyes. It really worked for me. I actually felt pretty.
“Perfect, now call your client and tell him to meet us downtown. I want to check out that hidden away furniture emporium you found last month by accident.”
“Ooh, good idea! I didn’t get a chance to really check it out. They have a little restaurant close by. We can hit that afterward for drinks and appies!” I pulled my hair into a thick pony tail, slicked my lips with some pink gloss, pinched my cheeks and added a quick layer of black mascara, then we were off.
Dylan met us just outside the furniture store as we pulled up in my BMW. It was a gift from Aspen for my twenty-fifth birthday last year. It matched hers, only she chose a dull boring gunmetal gray for herself. Mine was candy apple red, loaded, with high-performance tires and a smooth black leather interior.
Tripp told Aspen the gift was TITS! Meaning it was as great as a nice pair of breasts. Men were weird. I named her “Samantha” after the erotic vixen in Sex in the City.
The Furniture Emporium was a huge metal warehouse, ten times bigger than any of those box stores in suburbia. It hadn’t spread its wings as one of the mainstream retailers, but I knew a guy, who knew a guy, who got me access.
The last time I was here I briefly drooled over the supply. They catered to clientele that specialized their designs with furniture from India, Europe, and Asia. They also had a solid amount of US products that were considered ‘boutique’ pieces made from local woodworkers and whittlers. Everywhere the eyes roamed, new and beautiful art was proudly displayed. The place was Heaven to an interior designer.
I couldn’t wait to show Tripp and Dylan, though I didn’t think Dylan would much care one way or the other. He wasn’t big on sharing his opinion. Part of why I needed to bring Tripp along for this experience. Tripp was Tripp. Forever the bachelor. Honestly, I hoped Tripp could give the guy a lesson or two on how to let go, live in the now instead of planning his stock portfolio for when he was going to retire. The man was in his twenties for crying out loud.
We got out of the car. Dylan stood looking incredibly young, having traded in his suit for jeans and a polo shirt. He approached me, placed a hand around my waist and leaned in for a kiss. I backed away and Tripp stepped between us, introducing himself.
Dylan’s eyes followed me as I walked around him. I knew it wasn’t fair, avoiding him like this. Originally, I set the rules. Now, I had to suffer the consequences. Tenderly, I gripped his hand and brought it to my lips for a kiss. Confusion seemed to pump off him. It tapped a hasty beat against my heart, making me feel like utter garbage for leading him on the way I had.
“Hey,” I kissed his knuckles keeping the hold on his hand. His eyebrows knit together at the gesture. “We need to talk, later okay?”
Dylan’s eyes brightened. I could feel acceptance and loss transmitting to my empathic feelers. He looked resigned but smiled and kissed the outside of my hand. “Sure, whatever you say, London.”