Wren

“Excuse me?” I scoff, looking down at my very bra-less chest.

Ezra’s eyes dip to it, and his jaw ticks. “My point exactly.”

“You can’t possibly ask me to wear a bra every damn time, Ezra.”

“I can.” He looks down at his phone again. “Rule number two, you’re not leaving this house without me.”

Crossing my arms, I glare. “Can you at least let my food digest? I just ate.”

He presses his lips together, leaning back on the chair. “You know, normally, I’d ...