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Fuck, she isn’t wrong. I get her, I really do, but she’s cute as hell when she looks angry and ready to hand me my ass, and truth be told, I like this side of her. A lot. I could totally kiss those plump, luscious lips right now. It’d make my whole fucking day, maybe even my year. Who’s counting?
“I know,” I tell her. “But this time I mean it. Don’t worry, you’ll see. You and I, Greer, we’re going to be the best of friends before you know it.” I smile seductively at her, and she blinks slowly, looking adorably confused.
“Can I help the two of you?” a husky, feminine voice says, interrupting by intruding in our little private bubble and irritating the shit out of me.
Placing my hand on the small of Greer’s back, I gently push her forward. The door closes quietly behind us, but there’s a loud jingling of bells from above. Given that there are only two other people in the place, the bells seem rather unnecessary.
“This is Greer Manning,” I inform the woman, knowing that’s all she’ll need to hear.
The woman’s face immediately brightens with a smile, and I can practically see the dollar signs in her eyes. “Oh, yes, of course! I’m Patricia, and I’m the manager here. If you need help with anything, just holler and I’ll come running. You’re our top priority today.”
Poor Patricia. That sounds like a horrible way to spend one’s days. Luckily for her, Greer isn’t the type to take advantage.
“I’ve set everything up for you back by the dressing rooms, and everything your mother ordered in for you is hanging up on a rack. Feel free to look around at anything you’d like and bring it back with you to try on. If you’d like I could—”
Poor Greer looks so uncomfortable that her fingers begin twisting round and round the strap of her purse.
I plaster a big, flirtatious smile I don’t feel at all on my face and aim it directly at Patricia. “Thank you, but that will be all for now. If she requires help with anything, I’ll let you know immediately. For now, though, she’d really just like to be left to it. I’ll bring up all the items she’d like to purchase and leave them by the counter. Thank you.”
Greer tilts her head back and looks up at me with big, surprised eyes and parted lips that I really want to press mine to.
“Of course,” Patricia murmurs politely before slowly backing away. Good riddance. She reeks of desperation, and it rubs me the wrong way. They probably work on commission here, and Greer is not her damn cash cow.
“Thanks for doing that and getting rid of her,” Greer whispers conspiratorially. “Still, you’re not forgiven just yet.”
I dip my head once in acknowledgment that I’ve heard her. That’s okay, we’ve got hours together to get there. I’m not giving up until she gets where I want us to be.
“Do you want to look around first or go through the stuff your mom wanted you to try on and get it out of the way?”
She purses her lips and closes her eyes briefly as if she’s in pain. “It’s always best to get the hard stuff over with first, so I say try on the clothes Mom wants then look for things I might actually enjoy.”
It’s smart. “Sounds good,” I agree.
We head back to where the dressing rooms are, and I can’t help but laugh a little when I catch sight of the overstuffed rack of clothing and the insane amount of black, white, gold, and pink hanging from it.
Greer wrinkles her nose in distaste and reaches for the closest thing to her on the rack. It’s a white dress that looks like it should be worn by a senator’s wife.
This ought to be good.
“Go ahead and try it on,” I encourage her as I move over to a plush, cushy bench and sit my ass down on it.
She glares at me as she snatches a few more pieces off the rack, none of which are pink. She tosses her purse onto the bench beside me and takes her haul into the little cubicle. The curtain slides closed, and I can hear her rustling around in there.
It takes all of half a minute for me to be bored out of my mind, so I slip my phone out of my pocket. I check my email, scroll through my Facebook feed, and troll through Insta before pulling up my texts. I text my mom back, telling her I love her and promising to come home for dinner sometime in the next couple of weeks. I text my dad back, letting him know that I’m not ignoring my mother and to get off my ass.
Immediately he texts me back with a foot emoji, and I can only imagine it’s supposed to be his foot kicking my ass. The day my old man discovered emojis and started using them to respond to every freaking thing is the day I stopped responding to half his texts, mostly because I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about.
The curtain opens to reveal Greer standing there in the white dress with bare feet and a grimace on her face.
“What do you think?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, it’s a no for me. On to the next one please, and maybe you could pick one that shows a bit more skin, keep me entertained.”
“Asshole,” she mutters, and the curtain snaps shut.
Jesus, I hope that they all aren’t that bad.
I toss my phone down next to her purse and make my way over to the rack. If she has to try on all this crap, we’ll be in this store all day. I decide to help her out a bit and start shifting hangers aside and scanning through the outfits.
