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“You’re not going to chop me up and sell my organs, right?” she asks. “Because this definitely looks like the start of some cheesy horror-slasher where the main characters should totally know they’re about to get murked, but go in anyway.”
I laugh. “That was specific.”
“I’ve seen horror movies. I know how this goes.”
I file that one away for another day. Horror movie dinner date has to happen.
Shit. When did I start looking at this with dates in mind? When did I start glancing at Olivia and wondering how many ways I can make her smile and laugh and scream and moan?
I shake off the feeling and laugh. “You’re not gonna die. Not tonight, at least. Come on.”
We get out and I lead the way into the store. I’m itching to hold her hand, but I resist. Barely.
As we approach the front, I ask, “You want me to go first so you know there’s not a crazy ax murderer behind the door?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, haha-hehe-hoho. So funny. Please do.”
I smirk and enter.
“Holy shit,” Olivia breathes as she walks in behind me. “What is this place?”
The outside doesn’t do the interior any kind of justice. The walls are lined with every kind of clothing humanity has ever dreamed up, from designer to literal rags. There’s a section for wigs, makeup, sunglasses, shoes. Anything you can picture can be done here.
“It’s where a lot of celebs come to get outfits to disguise themselves when they want to go out and not be bothered. They even do makeup services, if you really want to go the extra mile,” I explain. “The services and clothes are expensive, but the expense pays for discretion. Anyone who comes through here knows the workers won’t talk.”
She begins roaming through the displays. I watch her, amused at her surprise and enamored with how different and new this is for her. I like seeing the world through her eyes. It’s so… hopeful.
“So if this place exists, why are you always in tabloids?” She looks over a rack of dresses at me. “Shoot, sorry. I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
“No offense taken.” I shrug. “I’ve never brought a woman here before. I’ve never trusted one enough to not blab about this little secret. And I mean, what’s the point of going to these lengths for a one-night stand, or someone I’m on the mega casual with?”
Olivia bites her lip, then swallows like she’s trying not to say something. “Makes sense. So how did you find out about this place?”
“One of my old friends, Elliot. Back when I was, let’s say, getting into the most tabloid trouble, he recommended this place to me. He works with celebrity clients. Sends ‘em here if they need a break from getting reported on all the time. So, instead of bringing women here, I’ve come here to disguise myself on days I just wanna roam and chill, you know? Sometimes you need to pretend you’re someone else for a little while.”
Olivia nods like she understands that better than anyone. She eyes the racks. “So, what vibe are we going for tonight? Casual, party…?”
“Dinner, then the club. You’ll love ‘em both, trust me.”
Olivia gets this determined look on her face. She’s really getting into the idea. It’s downright stupid how cute it is.
I follow her as she begins pulling clothes off the racks. She goes for dresses, in varying colors and lengths. Each one is so easy to imagine her in—a tight, strapless red number, an emerald green halter with a serious slit up the leg, a silvery strappy dress that would show off her perfect thighs.
Not only does Olivia have good taste, but she’s also picking out things that make me want to fuck her in them.
Is that accidental? Maybe. Maybe not.
When she can carry no more, she looks around, arms laden with a rainbow’s worth of clothes. “Uh, do we have to talk to someone to get into the changing room?” She seems to have just realized that no one’s come out to check on us yet.
“They stay in the back rooms mostly, until we buzz for them to check us out or if we want help. It’s to give us privacy.” I grin. “We may as well be alone.”
Her face lights up in something like a blush meets mischief. I put my hands on her shoulders to guide her toward the changing rooms at the back. Her skin is hot and soft beneath my palms.
The changing rooms are spacious. I open the door for one, then follow her in and close it behind me.
She looks at me, her brow cocked. “Shouldn’t you wait outside?”
“If I do that, how am I supposed to know how the dresses look on you?”
