Page 14

Seven

“We have a family coming in today,” Oakley tells me. “It’s not our usual clientele, but the guy bought a few horses from Sebastian’s father and his triplets are turning twenty-one. Two boys, and a girl. Will you be okay to do three custom suits?”

“I can’t see why not,” I reply. “You made a note here that only the dad wants a traditional three-piece suit, and his two boys just want suit pants with matching blazers.”

“Yes, but we only have six weeks. We need a dress and three suits done by the Fourth of July so that it’s done a week ahead of schedule. The party is on the seventeenth of July, if I’m not mistaken.” I check my own planner — because I have one of those now that I’m getting busier and busier — and write down the dates. “It’ll be a squeeze, but I’m sure if I pull a few late nights, I can have it done on time. We’ll just have to be through with their measurements today if we have such a short timeline.”

“I figured I could take the dress measurements, and then help you,” Oakley suggests, just as we hear a knock on the studio door. “I’ll get it. That’s them.”

I grab my tape measure and hang it over my shoulders, tightening my pin cushion around my wrist. When I turn around, I see two dark heads appear at the top of the stairs — two boys — and a brunette girl followed by who I assume is their father. The two boys are just over 6ft tall, with inky black hair and piercing blue eyes — replicas of their father — and the girl is about 5ft 6in, making her the odd one out among the males in her family. But it’s also obvious that she’s not only adored, but kind of the ringleader, judging by the way she talks to Oakley. There’s an authority to her voice and the way she carries herself. So much like Oakley, actually. Society girl who went to finishing school, most likely.

“I’m going to be doing your dress,” Oakley explains, and then gestures to me. “Channing, here, will be doing your brothers’ and your dad’s suits.” The room falls quiet, and while Oakley keeps smiling, the two boys, their father, and their sister stare at me wide-eyed. One boy elbows the other, who elbows his sister. And their father, he looks between me and his kids like he recognizes me. They mutter amongst themselves and start to giggle until their father clears his throat.

“Tala, you can come with me,” Oakley says, showing the girl where they’ll be taking measurements. The boys and their father don’t come any closer, and for a split second, it pokes at my insecurity. I’m wearing a white shirt and a red pencil skirt with black stilettos. Not only am I a little on the short side, but I also have what is called ‘child-bearing’ hips.

“You can follow me,” I tell them, spinning on my heel and walking toward my side of the studio. They whisper behind me, but I can feel them following me, which is progress. I stop next to the podium, and ask, “Who’s first?”

One of the boys steps forward, a megawatt smile on his face. “I’m Lycan, this is my brother Fallon, and my father Kalon.” He winks, and I rear back. What the hell? When I look at his brother, he’s also smiling, and the two of them smiling at the same time is just weird. I’m sure girls their age — they’re twenty freakin years old — fall over themselves just to get their attention, but I don’t date boys. I thought about going down the cougar path, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to teach a boy how to please me. I clear my throat, quirk a brow. “Who’s first?” I ask again, trying to sound bored, but I can feel their father staring a hole into the side of my face. He looks kind of familiar, but I don’t have time to try and place where I know him from.

“Uh, I’ll go first,” Lycan says, stepping onto the podium. He shoots a look over to his sister and then his brother, and an entire conversation is currently taking place between the three of them without them having to say a word. I heard that was a thing with twins and triplets, but to actually witness it is something else. I start with the suit jackets, and measure Lycan’s upper body first. Chest circumference. Neck circumference. Shoulder width. Arm length. Bicep circumference. Wrist circumference, and then the length of his back. Everything is broad, big, and strong. In fact, I’m ninety percent sure these boys can easily pass for five years older based solely on their size. I write everything down in my notebook with their names above each set of measurements. I move on to the next set. Stomach circumference. Waistline. Hip circumference. And then things get interesting. Not because of my lack of professionalism — I’ve done quite a few suits by now — but because Lycan, and Fallon, start snickering when I get to the inside leg. And it only takes me a few seconds to realize why. Lycan is a briefs kind of guy, which naturally gives away his shape and his size, if you catch my drift. And while they may look older than their twenty years, their maturity is that of a fifteen year old boy who’s just discovered masturbation for the first time. God. These boys are acting like children.

I become somewhat more aggressive when I move on to the thigh measurement, and stand when I’m done. With Lycan at least. Their father clears his throat, and glares at his sons, while his daughter keeps ducking and diving to get a better look at me. She whispers something to Oakley, and Oakley looks over and smiles while nodding her head. I suddenly feel like an animal in a zoo exhibit, which heightens my irritation. When I’m done with Lycan, his brother, Fallon, steps onto my podium, and I start the process from scratch, writing it all down as I go. This time, I hasten the process, which, sadly, doesn’t stop the boys from snickering when I get to Fallon’s inner leg. He, too, is a briefs kind of guy, and unlike his brother, who swings to the right, Fallon swings to the left. Jesus. If these boys are so well-hung, I can’t imagine what’s going to happen when their father steps onto the podium. While measuring Lycan and Fallon is a professional endeavor, thinking about their father has me sweating a little, for reasons that elude me. I haven’t looked at him again since I started taking his sons’ measurements, but I’ve been aware of him, and the way he’s been watching me, this entire time. I stand up, make my final notes about each boy, and then chance a glance at their father. He has the silver fox thing down, but I swear I’ve seen those eyes before. And that five o’clock shadow that’s peppered with grey. And his hair, which is still thick, and lush, and striped with silver. He regards me the same way, but when he opens his mouth, I talk over him.

“Your turn, Mr. Ward.” I don’t smile. I don’t make small talk. I just start taking his measurements, aware that he’s broader in size than his sons. I think I can keep my composure until his measurements are complete, but that proves impossible by the time I get to his inner leg. I redo the measurement a few times, just to be sure, and when I take it for the fourth time, Kalon — Mr. Ward — looks down.

“Do we have a problem?”

Yes, I want to say. Your dick is big, and I’m not sure these measurements are right. They can’t be. It’s physically impossible for a man to swing to the left and be hung like a horse. Instead, I shake my head, jot down the measurement, and stand. I’m not done yet, but I excuse myself and take my notebook with me to where Oakley is measuring Tala.

“Oak, can I talk to you for a second?” I ask, my voice wavering only slightly.

She looks up, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just need to talk to you quickly.” I clear my throat. “Privately.”

Oakley stands and follows me to our small dressing room. I pull the curtain so hard, it almost comes off. “I’m going to have to strap two dildos onto the mannequin's leg if I want to get the inside leg of that man’s suit pants right.”

For a moment, Oakley looks confused, and why wouldn’t she? Then it clicks. “Oh,” she snorts, covering her mouth with her hand. Her laughter is audible, and I’m unimpressed. I peek behind the curtain to make sure no one can hear us, but am sorely disappointed because Kalon — why the fuck does the name ring a damn bell? — Is surrounded by his three children, who are all three talking animatedly. He shakes his head, and catches me watching them. I shut the curtain.

“Oakley!” I whisper-hiss. “Get your shit together, and help me deal with this!”

“You know,” she laughs, “I thought it was only Sebastian who had a Loch Ness monster in his pants, but I was wrong.”

Oh my God. “That’s too much information,” I snap. “And it’s not helpful, either.” I need Oakley to tell me what to do, because I have no idea, and what is with the four of them looking at me between hushed whispers and secretive snickers? I place my hands on Oakley’s shoulders and give her a good shake. I try for a serious expression, but I think I look as desperate for help as I feel. “Focus! This has become extremely awkward for me, you know I don’t do awkward. I’ve never had this problem before, and what’s making it worse is that they keep looking at me like they know me. All four of them.”

Oakley, the bitch, wipes tears from her eyes because she’s been laughing so hard this entire time. She takes a breath, and says, “Okay, okay. I’m done now, I swear.” She peeks around the other side of the curtain, and when she looks back at me, her brows are furrowed. “They’re definitely looking over here, but Tala has her phone out too. That’s weird.”

“Finally! Now, how do I deal with this? Do I pretend they’re not freaking me the fuck out? Or do I just come out and ask if they know me from somewhere?”

“Well, do you know them? Do any of their faces look familiar?”

“No! Where the hell would I have met three twenty-year-olds who look like they’ve walked straight out of a Gap catalogue? We’ve never worked with them before, you said they were new, and they are.”

Oakley peeks around the curtain again, and I pull her back inside the relative safety of the dressing room before she becomes too fucking obvious. I mean, I think we already look ridiculous, but still. Let’s not make it worse. “Do you maybe know their father? Kalon?”

I chance one final look from behind the dressing room curtain, and this time, I fix my gaze on Kalon. There is something familiar about him, his face — “Oh, fuck.” I look at Oakley, the panic inside me rising. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Again, it’s a whisper-hiss, lest I’m overheard and make this appointment even more uncomfortable for me. I don’t care about anyone else. The triplets are obviously amused by something — my face, my body, my hair, something — and Oakley’s just being a straight-up A-grade asshole right now. “Fuuuuck,” I groan, covering my face with my hands. This is a disaster. Like a six on the fucking Richter scale. “I know him,” I mumble from behind my hands. “He sent me a terrible selfie last night, but I think I’d be able to pick those eyes out in a fucking lineup while blindfolded.”

Oakley squeals and hops from one foot to the other as if she needs to pee. “Oh my God, show me, show me, show me, show me!”