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I meet Nathan’s eyes and get a glimpse of seriousness behind the laughter.
This means something to him. Of course it does. He wants to do well at a job he loves.
Suddenly, the fact that he asked for my help with this sets a heavy weight on my heart. A pressure that should be uncomfortable, but instead, it carries a sense of being grounded. Of mattering.
“You look good. But I think the shirt might be a size too big. Let me grab you a smaller one.” I escape from the dressing room, losing myself in the racks of clothes, so I don’t have to figure out my sudden urge to kneel down and propose to the guy I’ve kissed a handful of times.
When I reach the stacks of shirts, I grab the size I think he needs, and then because it catches my eye, I pick up a short-sleeved crimson button-up with tiny black dots evenly scattered over the fabric. The color combo hints at a devilishness that’s perfect for my Lucifer.
No. Notmine.
Normal, not mine Nathan.
“Hey, I got you the smaller size. And I want you to consider this other one,” I call out as I walk back into the fitting area, juggling the clothes and my cup because there are no trashcans in sight.
“Cool. Bring them in.” His voice filters through the door again.
I have to take a second to process what he just said. Maybe I misheard him.
“You mean, hand them to you?” It’s the only logical conclusion, so I rise up on my tiptoes to slide the shirts over the top of the door.
But he doesn’t grab them.
“No, I meant, bring them in the room. I need your help.”
“With what? Did you forget how to dress yourself?” I retract the shirts and rest my hand on the doorknob. Still, I hesitate.
Nathan chuckles. “Maybe. You’ll have to come in to find out.”
That offer is too tempting to ignore. The latch gives a little welcome click as I crack the door open and slide myself inside.
Since we’re the only ones in the men’s department, Nathan has commandeered the largest dressing room. When I go shopping, these little spaces become a war zone of tried-on and discarded clothing, resembling the detonation of a trendy clothing bomb.
A sense of camaraderie engulfs me in a comforting hug at the sight of a similar trail of destruction Nathan left in his wake. Shirts hang halfheartedly from hangers or sit in haphazard piles on the bench and floor. Pants are flung over every available surface.
The only thing empty of clothing is his body.
“So, I was right. You did forget how to dress yourself.” That was supposed to sound flippant, but instead, I choked on the words and probably drooled slightly.
To be fair, he’s notcompletelynaked. Nathan still has on a pair of black boxer briefs. They would have to be black, wouldn’t they? He couldn’t wear some goofy pair of underwear with a cartoon character that we could both laugh about.
Nope. Lucifer has to show me his pale, sexy body with just a scrap of naughty black covering his important bits.
His legs have a coat of dark brown hair. Not werewolf territory, but the guy obviously isn’t on the swim team. Too much drag. There’s also just the barest hint of fuzz on his chest, enough to make me think about wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my nose in the spot. I already know the way he’d smell. Apple cider, heavy on the cloves.
Can I take a sip of him? Pretty please?
“It’s not so much that I forgot”—he saunters across the carpeted floor—“just that I wondered if you might want a peek.”
“A peek?” I might as well be Minnie Mouse with how high my voice just came out.
“Yeah, Shorty. You seemed distracted out there. Thought I’d clear up any questions you had about what was going on underneath all these outfits.” The devil smiles at me.
If I were more practiced in the arts of flirting and seduction, I might be able to come back with a witty line. Instead, I murmur, “Well, now, I’m going to be evenmoredistracted.”
He laughs, clearly enjoying the admiration I’m finding impossible to hide.
“Sorry”—he doesn’t sound sorry—“thought I was helping. Guess I’ll put one of those on.”
