Page 111 of Beautiful Chaos
I’m lucky I have any voice at all.
He blinks and checks the time. Nearly noon. “Damn, we slept in.”
“And whose fault is that?” I ask, elbowing him gently.
“You’re the one who did the fancy horse thing and made my dad fall in love with you.”
“Which is why you had to edge me, then put me in a cockcage, then force me to go find some asshole on my list to kill before I could get relief? That’smyfault?”
“I said what I said.”
I grin. Last night was the best night of mylife.
“Fine,” I croak, then grab my phone.
Maverick: Wildlings assemble. The pool has been drained and refilled, and the rooftop has been washed down.
Maverick: We’re taking our space back.
Maverick: Bring your cookies.
Me: We’ll be up in a bit.
We rise slowly, stretching our aching muscles. Oakley caresses my face, kissing my forehead.
“You okay?” he asks, running his large, gentle hands over my shoulders, arms, hips, and ass.
“I’m perfect,” I say, leaning into him. “And I’m looking forward to spending time with family.”
We get dressed. I mix and put the cookies in the oven. Oakley comes up behind me, kissing the side of my head as I slip into my boat shoes. We slather each other in sunscreen, grab the cookies, and make our way upstairs.
I inhale sharply.
The entire rooftop is pristine, with power-washed decks and new furniture. I set the cookies down on one of the new tables.
The Wildlings are in the big, turquoise pool, and someone brought a bunch of hilarious floats. Rami is lying on a shell-shaped floaty while Maverick and Maya are on matching flamingos and appear to be involved in some sort of race. Holmes is floating serenely on a rainbow unicorn while Honoré is bopping around on a float shaped like a mechanical bull.
“Oh good, it’sthatkind of pool party,” Oakley says, digging into the beach bag he brought up.
A few seconds later, he brings out a cigarette case. When heopens it, there are four perfectly rolled joints inside, along with a fancy-looking lighter.
Oh.
“I’ve never smoked weed before,” I say, eyeballing the large brontosaurus-shaped floaty bobbing off to the side.
Oakley stills. “Is this okay? You don’t have to.”
“It’s fine. Weed’s been legal for over a decade.”
He laughs. “Because you don’t like breaking the law.”
“Not when I don’t have to.” I point to the pool. “Dibs on the dinosaur.”
“It’s yours,” he says with a grin, grabbing my hand as we make our way to the pool.
I hop on the brontosaurus while Oakley gingerly mounts the balloon animal floaty.
He falls, and Rami cries out, “Save the weed!”
