24. Scarlet

TWENTY-FOUR

SCARLET

"Winnie girl, I think we need to call in reinforcements," I decide, tossing another dress aside in defeat. From where she's curled up on her bed, looking at me like I'm a crazy person—which I probably am since Remington has seen me in everything and nothing at this point—she huffs and cants her head at me. "Yes, I know. You said I should have called six outfits ago and I didn't listen. Telling me, ‘I told ya so,' ain't helping though. So take that sassy puppy butt elsewhere."

Pulling my phone out from the pocket of my robe, I open a text thread with the one contact I know I can rely on for this and shoot him a message. Slipping it back in, I return to the closet, flicking through my clothes—old and new alike—looking for the perfect outfit.

After my easily returned declaration of love for Remington and his subsequent half dozen variations of asking if I was sure, had I meant it, and to repeat it, he asked me on a date. A real date, outside of the house, where we would be seen together in a way that would be unmistakably not platonic and not in a professional capacity. And I agreed—well, after having him call his lawyer, Donny, to check the Nighthawks' policy and then verifying the answer with my dad. Who, just like me, is as subtle as a bat to the face, asked Boomer outright if there was anything Remington and I needed to do before going public with our relationship.

With a clear answer that Remington and I wouldn't need to remain a secret and Boomer apparently shouting, "Hallelujah, it's about time," I had gone into planning mode. My only request for our date being that whatever he planned, he planned it for at least a week from when he asked me but before Thanksgiving. Because while I'd only had the two, this was going to be my last first date and the night I planned to lose my virginity. And given how often we're kissing, touching, and bringing each other to orgasm, I wanted to have time to explore this newest aspect of our relationship before my family came for the holiday.

Flopping on top of the clothes only to get right back up so I don't wrinkle anything, I take my phone back out and begin text bombing Reeves.

Reeves-e's Pieces

Today 5:37 PM

Scarlet

Do you have a minute?

I could really use some advice

Reeves, come on. It's the offseason, I know your phone is within reach

Seriously, I need help

It's an emergency

Before I can even clarify that it's a girl emergency, my phone starts to blare with "Danger Zone," Reeves's walk-out song since college.

Answering his call, I don't even have a chance to greet him before he's saying, "I'm looking for my pants right now, Sugar. I won't even stop to get Roman, I'll call him on the way. Where are you?"

"Okay one, rude!" I start. "I've been blowing up your phone to no avail. Two, not that kind of emergency but it could've been, and you dodging my texts is not cool. So again I say, rude! And three, why do you need to find your pants?"

I hear a feminine voice in the background and Reeves promising to come right back, before he chuckles and responds into the phone, "I'm with Savannah; and Scarlet, thank you . I owe you the biggest present this Christmas. As for why I need to find my pants, I refer you to my company."

"Ew! TMI! Actually, I take that back. Share a bit more so I can call it quid pro quo."

"Well, those piercings Ro and I got when getting hazed—wait, what do you mean quid pro quo? Sugar, what's going on? Why'd you need me and not Ro?"

Huffing out a breath as I gracelessly plop myself on the floor, I lament, "Remington is taking me out tonight and I have no idea what to wear and it has to be perfect because I'm in love with him and want to lose my virginity tonight but I can't do that if we don't go on the date and I can't do that if I don't put on clothes but I don't know what clothes to put on or even what underwear to wear because I don't know where he's taking me so I'm sitting here naked in just a robe with everything from my ankle to my vag waxed and trimmed in preparation to have sex for the first time tonight and I need to be ready by six and oh my God, Reeves, HELP!" sucking in a large breath at the end.

"Whoah, okay Scarlet, first, you need to breathe. Where's that not so menacing attack dog of yours?"

"Winnie is plenty menacing!"

"Maybe from a distance, but Sugar, she's scared of her own damn shadow."

"Keep talking shit about my baby, Reeves; see what happens."

"At least you used punctuation when speaking this time so I'll call it a win. Now answer my video call."

No sooner does he tell me than is my phone chirping at me. Pulling it away from my ear, I tap on the camera icon and give Reeves a pathetic smile when he comes into focus.

"Wow, okay, Sugar, Imma need you to fix that robe before you flash me your perky little tits and Ro and Tate want my hide."

Glancing down at where the silk has gapped open, I tug the ends together and mutter, "Happy now?"

"Well I don't feel like a shotgun is about to be pointed at my face, so yeah. Now tell me, what has your pretty doll face all pouty?"

"I told you, Remington asked me?—"

"Tate isn't an idiot or blind, so he knows you're the prettiest thing in easily six counties and wouldn't care if you showed up in a potato sack. He's a fuckin' fool for you, and I saw it plain as day on the conference call. Seriously Scarlet, you're stressing over nothing."

"You're not helping," I cry.

"Then get a girlfriend. I don't do that hand holding, joint commiseration shit. I fix and bounce."

"And where should I get one of those? Aisle 3 of Target?"

"Nah, seems more like a thing you'd pick up at Hobby Lobby," he easily retorts, making me laugh.

Continuing to chuckle, I say "Thanks, I needed that."

"I know; it's why I was your first call, Sugar."

"Actually it was because?—"

"SHUSH! Let me live in my delusion that you love me just as much as Ro. Now flip the camera so I can see my options. You have a date to get to and I have a lady friend waiting to be reacquainted with me and Jacob's Ladder."

Standing up, I flip the camera as he demanded and begin spreading out all my clothes on the bed, saying, "I for sure want a dress, maybe a skirt. I think they're his favorite."

"Scarlet, he's a man. Anything that allows his hands and dick easy access is gonna be a favorite. Hence the potato sack. Easy access and no guilt over shredding it."

"Oh my God," I groan, rolling my eyes. "Just shut up and help me pick."

"Fine, but after this we're finding you a friend."

Turning my phone back around, I reply in exasperation, "Well if Roman would stop being such a slut and like someone for more than a night or two, I could draft her into friendship under the sister clause."

Raising his hand in surrender, chocolate eyes sparkling with mischief, Reeves says, "So long as you aren't trying to set me up. I plan to ride my slut days out until I'm at least thirty."

"Ugh," I gag. "And Ro wonders why I count Remi's age as a massive bonus. Now hurry up. I have like ten minutes until I'm late," I rush.

"Wear the skirt."

"Reeves, I need a lot more to go off of than, ‘the skirt.'"

"The poofy one with all the layers. You know, the one that looks like it was made from a wedding dress."

Knowing exactly which of my tulle skirts he's talking about, I drop my phone on the bed and run to the closet to pull it, shouting, "Yes!" as I begin to rummage through my tops for the perfect mate. "You're a genius, Reeves-e's. Thank you!"

"Tell me something I don't know, Sugar! Now put that with that sweater-thing that only covers your tits and wraps all around and ties in the back like a damn present."

Coming back to pick up my phone, I kiss the screen and thank him, "You're a lifesaver, Reeves."

"You can thank me by not telling Ro I helped you pick out your, ‘Please take my virginity, Tate,' outfit."

"Done, even though you totally ratted on us."

"Just doing my job as your brother's best friend. Have a good time, Scarlet, and USE PROTECTION!"

"Same to you," I snark, before blowing another kiss and hanging up.

Going over to the dresser, I open up the drawer with my underwear and after shuffling through various shades of pink, pull out the exorbitantly priced, delicate sheer lace set I bought before coming here. The one Roman had accused me of buying with a secret man in mind. While that hadn't been the case at the time, it certainly becomes that now, its shimmery, soft pink color a perfect match to the blush tint of my tulle skirt.

Slipping my robe off and draping it on the dresser, I step into the thong and then fasten the bra, bending forward once I move the cups to the front, so my breasts fall in and fill out the lace. With the straps adjusted, I go back to the closet for the hundredth time this evening and kneel before my shoes. Under the rack where almost all my heels, flats, and sneakers are lined up is a slate gray box with gold embossing across the lid.

Sliding it out, I take the lid off and fold back the tissue to reveal a satin bag the unworn heels live in. Despite my hyper feminine, high maintenance personality, I was never the little girl who dreamed of her wedding day and all its beautiful details or had Barbie marry Ken in a dozen different pretend ceremonies. I never thought of colors or what song I would dance to with my daddy. Never envisioned my cake or debated over a DJ or band. I never even thought about what my dress would look like.

But there was a day when we were on the road this summer and I dragged Roman and our dad out to Houston's Galleria on the off day. And there in the Jimmy Choo window were these heels—a simple pointed toe, a shade of nude that was a perfect match to my skin tone, and a delicate little ankle strap with a large bow on the back. Seeing them, I thought of my wedding for the first time. It was fleeting, barely more than a half formed idea, but it was so clear. For that split second, I saw Remington. I saw him and my heart skipped right after the word husband fluttered through my head. I don't even know what possessed me to buy them, but after that moment and my dad saying, "Just because we buy them now doesn't mean you have to wear them. You can always just hold on to them until it's time," I had to have them.

So for months they sat in my closet at home unopened and waiting. They almost didn't even come with me to Gatlinburg. They ended up being a last minute item added to one of my suitcases as Ro was carrying the others downstairs and out to my car for me.

Freeing one from the bag, I hold it up, turning it this way and that, waiting. But nothing comes. Or rather, nothing changes. It still feels right. This feels right. Remington feels right.

Once I have them buckled, I stand up and pull my skirt from the hanger, stepping into it. Then getting the velvet wrap cropped sweater off the shelf, I slip it on, and after adjusting my cleavage, I tie the ends in a bow at my back, a sliver of skin exposed between the sweater's hem and the skirt's high waist. My final touches are my gold lariat necklace with tiered rose quartz stones for my dad, Roman, and Winne, my stack of rings that coordinate to each Championship ring my dad has won, the diamond studs Boomer and Marcia gave me on my sixteenth birthday, a quick fluff of my hair, and a fresh swipe of gloss across my lips, before hastening around the room to tidy my mess.

It's with my arms full of clothes that Remi knocks on the door and asks, "Scarlet, do you need more time?"

Dropping them back on the bed, I teeter run to the door and yank it open, exhaling, "No, I'm ready. I just?—"

"You look…" he breathes, eyes slowly taking me in from head to toe.

Forcing myself not to pick at the fresh gel lacquer on my nails as I take in his starched jeans, white button down, and the midnight blue sweater he has pulled on over top, I worry, "Is it too much?"

"Baby girl, you could never be too much. And this," he drawls, voice gravelly as he gestures to me, "this image of you is staying with me until I die." Steepling his fingers over his nose and covering his mouth, his voice is muffled as he says, "I want to kiss you but I'm afraid of messin' you up."

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I glance down at my shoes and murmur, "I like when you mess me up."

"Scar," he groans, before threading his fingers through the tousled waves of my hair to cup the back of my head, his other hand sliding around my hip and grabbing my butt through the tulle to yank me flush against him, his body bending over mine as I arch up and back for him, welcoming the crash of his lips against mine.

Stumbling through the doorway, he pins me against the wall, tongue plunging into my mouth as I open up for him on a moan. With his fingers gripping and pressing into the muscle of my ass, I hike my leg up around his hip, whimpering as he sinks into the space between my thighs. Then as if he can't get close enough to me, he untangles his fingers from my hair and grabs my other thigh, hoisting me up into his arms.

Breaking our kiss and peppering a line of open mouthed ones along my jaw and down my neck, he sounds desperate as he says, "I love you, Scar."

Panting as his tongue paints across my collar bone, I return, "I love you too."

"Promise, baby?"

"Yes; God yes, Remi. I love you."

"Fuuuuck, I'm never gonna tire of hearing you say that."

It's as I'm pulling at his sweater, all thoughts of our date gone and replaced by the burning need to feel every inch of him along and inside my body, that Winnie whines from the corner of the room, dousing the heat between us.

"Fine," Remi grumbles, slowly lowering me down his body and taking my hand. "We're leaving, Winnie. Try to keep your friends from wreckin' the house. No tigers, and no pooping in shoes."

Looking at the mess that's currently covering the bed I have plans for in a few hours as he starts to lead me from our bedroom, I protest, "But I have to?—"

"Don't worry about it, baby girl."

"But what about—" I try again, because there's no way I'm going to want to wait for the time it takes to put it all away later only for him to interrupt again.

"Trust me, Scar. It'll be fine."

"Okay…" I slowly reply, reaching out to pet Winnie's ears as she follows us to the front door.

I bend to kiss her nose before we go, and Remington snaps a picture of us on his phone, commenting, "New lock screen," before kissing her as well and opening the door. Outside, he keeps a firm grip on my hand as we walk down the wet drive to his Rubicon. Then opening the car door, he lifts me up in a flurry of tulle, getting me into the seat and buckling me in, stopping to untuck my hair from the belt, then kissing me and shutting me in.

Handing me his phone once he's in, he rattles off, "0-6-1-5-0-3," making my lips part as I punch the password in and he starts the car.

"That's my birthday," I whisper, staring at a picture on his home screen of me reading on the balcony wearing only his sweatshirt with my feet propped up on the railing.

Putting his arm behind my seat as he looks out the rearview window to back out, he answers, "I know. Now put on my playlist for you while I drive." He pushes the hem of my skirt up to rest his hand on my thigh once the car is in drive.

"How will I know which is mine?"

"You'll know."

Sure enough, the moment I open up his music library, I know. There, at the top of his Recently Added, is a playlist titled Baby Girl/Future Wife.

"Remi…"

"I keep telling you, Scar, I'm in this until the end. Now put on ‘Found You' and shuffle from there."

Leaning over the console, I kiss his cheek, doing as he says. Hearing the song for the first time, my eyes tear up as I watch his profile. The moment it's over, I'm hitting the back button to play it again and making it my new ringtone for him.