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I shook my head at the mirror. I couldn’t let Chris see me like this.
“Is everything okay?” one of the two girls helping asked.
I thought about explaining, but I figured it would be more weird to assume he couldn’t handle seeing me like this. After all, what if this was the one dress? Maybe it’d be his favorite, and I’d be screwing up my job as a wedding planner if I didn’t let him see.
“No, it’s okay.” I took a deep breath, hating that I felt a little wave of warmth spread through my stomach at the idea of Chris seeing me in this. It’s harmless. You’re not going to let anything unprofessional happen.
“Well?” I said. My cheeks were on fire, and Chris wasn’t helping by staring at me wordlessly.
“It’s, well…” He cleared his throat and crossed his legs again, then folded both hands over his lap. In fact, he looked almost like he was in pain.
I forgot about the revealing dress and went to put my hand on his shoulder. I leaned in, trying to catch his eyes. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt at practice or something?”
“Just a cramp,” he said, clearing his throat once again.
I took his arm, trying to help him to stand. “Try standing up. Curling up like that is only going to make it worse.”
Chris tried to wave me off, but I knew I was right. He needed to stretch it out.
I took his other hand and tugged his huge frame up, and nearly pulled him into myself. Except the first thing I felt wasn’t his chest colliding with mine. It was the warm, hard point of something pressing against my belly just before our bodies crashed together.
Chris pushed away from me and turned, adjusting himself as he shook with laughter. “You brought that on yourself. You know that, right?”
“Was that—” I stammered. “Seriously? What are you, some hormonal middle schooler?”
“Look at you!” he said, still barely holding back laughter. “You’re like the mummy, except mummy is rocking a body under those bandages and they didn’t have enough bandages to wrap her all the way up. What is my dick supposed to do? Close its eye?”
“That is the dumbest, most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Your dick can’t—no. We’re not having a conversation about your penis right now.”
“I mean,” Chris tilted his hand one way then the other. “We kind of are.”
“Will you just rate the damn dress?”
“Ten out of ten.” he said.
I rolled my eyes, then rushed back toward the fitting room.
Chris let out a low whistle once I turned. “Amendment. Eleven out of ten!”
I flashed him a middle finger, then closed the door of the dressing room.
So much for professionalism.9ChrisI was rich, but my brother was a rich bastard. He lived in a rich bastard penthouse in a rich bastard part of New York City. I had a perfectly reasonable, multi-million-dollar bachelor pad in a perfectly reasonable part of the city.
I was sitting at his dining room table with a plate of food made by his wife, Chelsea, in front of me. Chelsea was a notoriously bad cook, and I’d made the mistake of complimenting her lasagna the first time she made it for me.
I’d imagined she’d be out of his life in a few weeks and I would never have to eat it again. Instead…
I jabbed at the rock-hard top layer of raw pasta. It nearly bent the prongs of my fork, then cracked. I thought I might’ve seen a cloud of pasta dust rise up in front of me like I’d just broken the seal on a thousand-year-old lasagna sarcophagus.
Damon was dutifully chewing his mummified lasagna with a look of resignation on his face. I never thought I’d see the day when my brother would actually set his own needs aside to please someone else. It was fascinating—like watching a wild lion doing tricks for a tiny little trainer. Except in this case, the lion probably just hoped he’d get some from the trainer tonight.
Chelsea was a bubbly blonde with an athletic build from her semi-pro tennis career. She’d had the misfortune of popping out one of my brother’s babies, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at her now.
Her spawn—a cute little thing with dark brown pigtails and bright blue eyes—was looking at the lasagna like it deserved to be looked at: with revulsion. I caught Luna’s eye and gave a discreet thumbs down. She nodded enthusiastically, then put her small hands to her neck and acted like she was choking.
Luna was six, and until a year ago, she hadn’t known Damon was her father. I guess good luck like that couldn’t last forever.
Chelsea’s brother, Grant, usually showed up for things like this along with her friend, Milly, but both couldn’t come tonight.
It was probably for the best. At least only the four of us would have to endure this lasagna.
