Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 26

Chapter 26

I can’t decide if I want to strangle him or throw him out of my house. O wait, I’ve tried throwing him out and the stubborn fucker somehow got out of it.

Strangling him n also seems like a lot of work right now.

If I want to get away with it, it’ll mean having to hide the body. And if documentaries are anything to go by, it’s a mission in and of itself. For one, turn off your GPS location on all your devices and find a dumping site outside of your comfort zone. Then get his giant ass out of my house and into the trunk of my car without pulling something in my back. And Griffin knows where I live and saw him here last, alive and kicking, so there’s that too.

Not wanting to get away with it also seems like a hassle, which I don’t have the patience for right now. I’ll have to phone 911, wait for the cops and paramedics to arrive, then the coroner. Meanwhile, I’ll be sitting in uncomfortable handcuffs while the officers ask me basic and mundane questions. Then I’ll have to be carted off to the station where I’ll be processed, interviewed for several tedious hours, and then consult my legal counsel. Eventually, I’ll be thrown into a cell with a woman named Bertha who stabbed her husband because he used the last of the milk and placed the empty jug back in the fridge.

Getting ready for dinner, it is then.

I get up from the couch with wobbly legs, courtesy of that kiss he gave me just before declaring I should start getting ready for dinner. In a small act of defiance, I take my time going upstairs to grab the things I’ll need for my shower,

I prolong my shower for far longer than technically necessary by washing and conditioning my hair, and shaving everywhere. Then I wash and even exfoliate my whole body, before moisturizing every inch of my skin with my favorite jasmine and vanilla body butter after getting out and drying off

With my bath towel wrapped around my body and a smaller towel holding my wet hair up turhan–style, I stroll to my room, sit in front of my vanity, and start blow–drying my hair. Usually, I wouldn’t even bother with this step, throwing it into a messy bun or a tight ponytail or leaving it loose around my shoulders to air dry. But seeing as we’re going to a, no doubt, fancy Italian restaurant, I’ll make some effort not to look like a complete trash panda.

Once done, I apply a light smattering of makeup: tinted moisturizer, mascara, and a light dusting of blush on my cheeks. My tinted lip gloss will go on at the very end, as I’ve gut a knack for smearing it on my outfit as I put on my chosen dress or shirt.

My outfit consists of my only LBD: a knee–length, black, almost peplum–like dress with off–the–shoulder sleeves and a neckline that makes my cleavage look phenomenal. Not having the best track record with high heels, my black wedge pumps get slipped on just before I grab my clutch bag. Inside are my phone, lip gloss, cash, and bank card.

I’ve pinned my hair in a half–up, half–down look that accentuates my neck and collarbones and keeps my hair from falling in my face the whole time. So when I give myself a final glance in my mirror behind my door, I’m happy with what looks back at me.

Walking down the stairs, a thought strikes me. We’ll probably have to go over to Thane’s place so he can get a clean set of clothes. I’m sure an establishment that Mr. Monopoly deems acceptable to dine at would not allow dress pants and a worn t–shirt.

Fiddling with the hem of my dress, not because it’s too short, but because I’m nervous for some inexplicable reason, my head is bowed as 1 step into the living room, ready to tell him we can leave so he can get dressed at his place.

When I look up, though, my intended words get caught in my throat as my eyes find him standing in front of the bay window.

Oh shit

He’s dressed in tailored black–on–black. Dress pants fitting that delicious ass of his perfectly. Button–down with the top two buttons undone to give you a glimpse of his bronze skin that begs to be traced with your fingers, and a tailored suit jacket accentuating his broad shoulders.

He looks like he walked out of a Vogue spread and directly into my personal thirst trap.

He lets out a low, audible exhale as his gaze drifts down my body, then reverently says, “You’re…breathtaking” Then adds, as if he can’t help needling me, “And late.” Asshole.

Rolling my eyes, trying to get my hormones under control, I deadpan as I walk to the front door, “Oh, I’m sorry. Were the solid gold seconds on your diamond Rolex running out?”

As he holds the door open so I can step out before him, he leans in as I pass, his breath whispering against my neck as he says in a cocky tone,

Outside, a black SUV limo waits beside the curb in front of my house, with Griffin standing beside the open back door. His genuine smile has me relaxing somewhat, and as I near him, I give him one of my own, playfully saying, “Well, Griffin, fancy seeing you here. Are you perhaps stalking me?

Mockingly clutching at his chest, he answers with a fake offended tone, “I would never.”

Doom Daddy, behind me, ruins our moment of silliness when he pipes up with a stem, “Griffin, causing Griffin to clear his throat and hold his hand in my direction to help me into the back of the car.

Having none of it, Thane pushes in front of him, taking my hand so he can be the one to help me inside.

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