“Why is that?”
“Your mind is inventive enough already.”
“Oh, you havenoidea.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a mango again without blushing. Drink champagne, or even watch the condensation on a cold glass.”
I could just eat her up, she’s so fucking open and adorable. I can’t resist wrapping my arms around her waist, hugging her to me. “Come on, Mimi.” Spinning her in the direction of the dressing room, I slap her delectable arse, making her squeal. “Let’s go play dress-up.”
She slides me an arch look over her shoulder. “Putting clothes on?”
“The novelty feels like payment itself.”
“Well, this is kind of cute,” she says, pulling a sweater from a nearby rack. “It’s the same as the one hanging in the window. I noticed it when we—holy Moses! How much?”
“That’s not for consideration,” I say, taking it from her hands. “What about pants?”
“Whit, no!” She turns, her expression shocked.
“No pants? Works for me.”
“Be serious!”
“How can I be serious when we’re playing dress-up.” Reaching out, I grab the first thing my hand falls to. “I’d like to see you in this.”
“A jumpsuit?”
I examine the garment and resist saying I thought it was a pair of really long pants. “Don’t you like it?” I say instead.
“Well, it is cute.”
“Look, they have it in miniature, too.” I slide another hanger from the rack.
“That one’s a playsuit,” she informs me.
“Is it indeed? Doesn’t look like it’d be much fun to get into.”
“Or out of.”
Holding it out, I examine the thing. “I’d just use scissors.”
“Not in a public bathroom!”
“Is it, indeed,” she repeats with a less than patient expression. “You sound like you’re one hundred and three. All you need is a moustache to twirl.”
“How about I twirl you instead?” One hand still holding the hangers, I reach for Mimi’s hand. As I lift it, she twirls gracefully under it. “And an evening gown.”
“What? No!” She laughs as though that’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “I don’t need an evening gown.”
“Surely, every woman needs a posh frock.” I can’t believe the nonsense that’s coming out of my mouth. “Right…” I turn to, what was her name again? Ah, “Charlotte.” According to her name tag.
“Absolutely! You never know where one might be invited.”
“Well,this onehas never been invited anywhere.”
“Give it up, Cinderella. Someone else needs the pumpkin.”
“What?”
