RISK & REWARD

88 | 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬

BUYING CLOTHES for tonight was an experience. Now, though, we're having another experience; not a sexual one. Just a new one.

It's five in the afternoon. Getting dressed up for a New Years' party in Vegas was certainly not what I was expecting to be doing today. Excitement fizzes up and down my spine; as I look at myself in the mirror, I wonder how the rest of the night will go. I don't know what to expect; I mean, I'm sure it'll be a big party, but how big? How busy? How loud?

The "dress" looks the part—it glitters when I move, and it hugs my shape so nicely—but I can't help but feel bare. I have no jewelry and no makeup; just me and the dress.

The bathroom door opens without any forewarning. Like it's the most casual thing in the world, Slade just strides into the room; she's not shy about eyeing me up, but she doesn't come over to me. She makes a beeline for the sink, and she puts a box down on the countertop before she so much as addresses me.

"M'gonna fix my hair." She turns to speak over her shoulder as she pops the thing open. "S'quick."

"Want help?"

Slade shrugs. "S'not hard. Unless you wanna."

I do wind up helping.

I insist on washing her hair too. Slade winds up dozing off while I do; when the time comes for me to bleach the roots of her hair, she just sort of sits there with her eyes unfocused and half-closed while I paint the stuff on. She hasn't changed clothes yet; she just sits there in her hoodie, shoulder resting against my thigh, seated on the edge of the tub as I work.

"Are you excited?" The bleach has to sit; in the meantime, I just scratch her scalp, and she just hums in response. "For tonight?"

"Mm." She blinks sleepily. "Yeah. Sure."

"You don't sound very excited."

"Mm." She doesn't make a point of proving me wrong. She just sits there and closes her eyes again. Despite my mounting excitement-slash-anxiety, I take a minute to settle into the moment; Slade, letting her eyes shut while she sits against me and waits for me to finish fixing up her hair. It's so domestic it's almost disgusting.

"You down for a drinking contest tonight?" I comb my fingers back, away from her face, and Slade tips her head back with the motion. "See who's a bigger lightweight?"

"Mm." The same response as earlier; apparently, she isn't interested in talking about the party. She just hums and doesn't do anything else. It almost seems like she'd rather stay here; just dozing off in the bathroom against my hip.

"We don't have to stay." Hesitantly, I reach down and softly cradle her head against my leg. It's a bit more sweetly-affectionate than she's regularly used to; she stiffens a little, but then she settles again, letting me hold the weight of her head and brush my knuckles along her jaw. "We can head out whenever."

"Mm." Again, Slade just hums; then, though, she decides to add to her response. "I wanna do the midnight thing."

"The what?"

"The...midnight thing." She shrugs. "Where you kiss."

"Oh!" My face flushes warm; her casual confession has me hot, and I giggle. "Yeah. We can do that."

"Good." Her tone drops again, and that familiar envious edge laces her next words. "Layin' claim before anyone else tries to."

I giggle a little at that, too. Ruffling her hair, I scoff. "Your concern is cute, but I'm not going anywhere other than with you."

Once Slade's hair is finished—grown-out roots on the right side now returned to their proper bleached-white shade—she gets changed, and she looks adorably nervous about her getup. She stalks around the suite for a good ten minutes, looking around in the closets like she'll find a pair of nice shoes that have just been left behind at some point. She doesn't find any, though, and so she's stuck with her usual black platform boots. A little bulky for her current outfit, but it works.