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“Something to do with a certain attractive florist, perhaps?”
Her smirk is positively devilish, and I know, deep down, that she knows.
“White is boring. And the pink will coordinate with the peonies you want,” I reason, praying she buys my bullshit.
“Hmmm,” she says, skeptically. “I suppose you've got a point. Good call, Theo. Let's go with the pink.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, escaping into the relative safety of the dressing room before she can interrogate me any further. It only takes me a few moments to strip and dress in my jeans and t-shirt, but I balk when I see the white dress shirt I’d hastily tossed onto the bench, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with it now.
Folding it up, I carefully tuck the soiled areas under clean ones to disguise the mess, before grabbing the suit and pink shirt and leaving the dressing room behind.
Alyssa joins me as we walk through the shop toward the cashier.
“You could’ve just left the white one in the room. They pay people to put it back, you know,” she teases, nudging me with her shoulder.
“I decided to buy it. I only have an old one and you never know when you’ll need a fancy ass white shirt,” I deadpan.
Thankfully, something shiny grabs Alyssa’s attention and I can breathe normally again. Until the cashier refolds the shirt and gives me a horrified, knowing glance. Unable to meet her eye again, I barely blink when she reads out the total. Guess it’s a good thing I put in all that overtime when spring hit.
The construction business is never a guarantee, but thankfully I’ve got a good reputation for quality work and competitive prices, so there’s rarely any downtime for my crew.
Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I grab Alyssa on my way out, desperate to escape the judgmental glare of the employees. It may just be a guilty conscience berating me for my weakness, but, really, I deserve it.
I haven’t felt the pressing need to get off in quite some time, never mind to a fantasy of a beautiful stranger. Before I can berate myself further, we’re in the parking deck and I’m opening the passenger door to my truck and helping Alyssa in.
Hanging the garment bag in the back seat, I jump behind the wheel, ready to drop her off and head home to fix dinner for my girl. The only girl I need. The only one who won’t break my heart into a million pieces.
“Thanks for coming with me today, Theo. I know flowers and suit shopping aren’t exactly your thing, but I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” I shrug, not knowing what else to say. They asked me to fill in, so I did. I kinda thought that was the role of the best man. If not, I’m gonna be pissed at whoever circulated that bullshit.
“Anytime,” I finally say, regret immediately rushing through me.
“Actually…” she hedges, looking at me from under her lashes. Suddenly, I realize how Pete got caught in her orbit. If my woman looked at me like that, I’d be a fucking goner, too.
“What is it?” My tone is hesitant, wary of what she’s going to rope me into next.
“Don’t worry, you’ll like this one better,” she says, though I’m inclined to call her a liar. “Cake tasting. The bakery only has an opening Monday evening and Pete’s got some makeup exam session. Would you mind?”
Hmm. I do like cake. “I’ll have to meet you there,” I say, checking the calendar on my phone. “And I may be a few minutes late.”
She beams up at me. “That’s totally fine!”
“Maybe find some more taste testing for me to do. Kinda makes up for the monkey suit,” I tease, getting out of the truck to open her door.
“There’s catering, too, but Pete’s determined to make it to that one. You know how much he loves barbecue.” I groan, already salivating at the prospect, and contemplating getting take-out for dinner tonight. Bailey loves making a mess of a plate of ribs.
Chapter Five
Libby
Wyatt caught me just before closing, supposedly wanting to make a change to their flower order, but when I turned my back, he closed the distance between us, pulling my back to his front. I could feel his erection digging into the small of my back and before he could do more than graze the side of my breast, I jabbed him in the stomach with my elbow hard enough to have him wheezing.
“Fuck, Libs,” he grunts, rubbing the spot where I hit him. “You used to like when I came up behind you and had you screaming my name just with my hands.”
“I used to like a lot of things about you, Wyatt. Then I realized I was just something on the side—some diversion to keep your bed warm until your fiancé came back.”
“Oh come on, Libs. It was never like that. I love you. Winnie is just a convenient business move,” he reasons, as if his logic is irrefutable rather than grotesquely misogynistic.
