Sinful Desire (Sinful Nights, #2)(48)
“I’ll have to take your word on that.”
“Oh, you can definitely take my word on that.”
“By the way, I fixed my dress, and I cleaned it myself.”
“Aren’t you little Miss Independent? Not even letting me help,” he said, and she could practically see his playful pout.
“Maybe I just wanted to assert myself in that way.”
“Maybe I’ll assert myself by getting you another dress. That one you said you wanted.”
She laughed as she pulled out of the lot. “I highly doubt you would even know where to get one. They are kind of specialty boutique dresses.”
“Oh, you challenge me, woman?” he asked, sounding all over-the-top tough.
She laughed, and gave it right back to him. “Oh, yes I do, man.”
“I am up to the challenge,” he answered, and a robotic female voice sounded from his phone. “You are two hundred miles from your destination in Hawthorne.”
She furrowed her brow. There wasn’t much in Hawthorne. That was a small town with a big prison. “What are you doing in Hawthorne?” she asked curiously, as she pulled onto the road. “Do you do security for the prison?”
He didn’t answer at first. “Yeah. Shit, Sophie, I need to pay attention to the road, but I can’t wait to see you Friday. I’ll be there. It’s the only thing making this drive better.”
He hung up.
Chapter Nineteen
Halfway there.
The sun glared at him as he played The National on repeat. His favorite band. Dark and moody. It suited him after seeing Luke then lying to Sophie.
He gripped the wheel tighter. What choice did he have? Was he supposed to tell her about his mom on the goddamn phone? He was flying blind when it came to sharing this emotional stuff, this family history. He’d had no training in how to open your heart, or your life, or your past. He wasn’t a practitioner of closeness or commitment.
But he couldn’t seem to stay away from Sophie.
So he’d need to do it right. Tell her when they were sitting down, face to face, not over the phone.
As the road echoed its sameness for miles, he dialed his sister’s number. After a quick hello, he put her on speakerphone and jumped right into the matter at hand.
“Where do I find a dress? You know the kind the women from the fifties wore?”
Shannon cracked up, so damn loud that he thought his eardrum was going to split in half. “Something you want to tell me, Ryan? You’re taking up cross-dressing?”
“My, my. Aren’t you a funny lady? Anyway, you know the kind the movie stars wear? Like a pinup dress, I think it’s called?”
She stopped laughing and turned her voice serious. “Sure. I’ve got a super hot one that might fit you. I’ll drop it off at your house later tonight.”
He rolled his eyes. “Make sure it has a petticoat and all.”
“Consider it done.”
“Anyway, where do I get one as a gift? For a woman.”
Shannon whistled. “Is Mr. Always Single dating someone? Or is this like a gift for your assistant?”
“It’s for a woman I’m seeing.”
“Details,” Shannon said demandingly.
“I can’t get into them now. I’m driving. Just tell me where I can buy one. Is there a store on the Strip that sells them? She told me they’re kind of specialty items.”
“Well, they are very boutique-type dresses. You don’t really find them at the department store. But maybe Rockin’ Bette or Viva Las Vegas might have them. Do you want me to call around for you?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “That would be awesome. But I want one with peaches on it.”
She scoffed. “You’re not going to find that off the rack, even at a boutique. You need to go to Etsy and hunt online for something that specific. I’ll look for you. Tell me what size to get.”
“Um…I don’t know what size she is,” he said.
“Well, what’s her figure like?”
“Perfect.”
“You’re going to need to be a little more specific. Perfect is in the eye of the beholder.”
An image of Sophie’s round, full breasts popped into his mind, and he nearly swerved off the road. “She has nice…” He began and then trailed off, not wanting to talk like that in front of his sister.
“Tits, Ryan? She has nice tits?” Shannon supplied.
He laughed. “Yeah. What you just said. But they’re bigger than—”
“Than mine? Is that what you were going to say?”
He laughed. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like my tits. So does my husband. Anyway. What are we talking in the knockers department? C?”
“That sounds about right. Maybe a big C.”
“And is she skinny? Heavy? Average?”
“There is nothing average about her,” he said quickly.
“Oh my God, I do not need to hear you wax on and on, even though it is adorable coming from The Ice Man. Just tell me—is she skinny or curvy?”
“She’s not a stick. She has hips. She’s not heavy or anything. But she’s curvy.”
“Marilyn Monroe?”