Wren
The clubhouse is in full swing by the time Ezra and I make it out of his car.
Red cups litter the yard, loud music thrums through my chest, and the familiar scent of whiskey, leather, and smoke settles in my lungs.
“Did I tell you red is your colour?” Ezra says, voice low, as we walk slowly through the yard.
I smile, looking down at the thigh-length dress I’m wearing. “Yes, more than five times tonight. How’s the hickey, though?”
My fingers gently graze the spot, careful not to smudge the make-up.
“Not visible enough,” he grunts. And I actually laugh at that, but it dies when Ray walks up to us, two red cups in his hands.
He raises a brow. “Did I just see you laughing with Ezra?”
“You did.” Ezra chuckles, eyes tight as he pulls Ray into a brief bro-hug. “She’s coming around n
