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“Oh god, can you imagine Ev in Crocs?” Vlado howled.
Nick cackled. “My life will not be complete until I see that.”
“I will never wear Crocs.”
He put his folded hands under his chin and fluttered his eyelashes cherubically, even as his expression stayed devious. “Pretty please.”
“No.”
“Boo. You’re no fun.” He heaved a dramatic sigh and looked at Vlado. “Does he ever take that fuddy-duddy stick out of his ass?”
“Pretty sure it would need to be surgically removed at this point.”
“Probably,” Nick agreed. “You’re a saint for putting up with him for so long.”
“He’s not so bad when he relaxes.”
“He knows how to do that?”
“Are you two done ganging up on me?”
“We’re not ganging up on you.” Nick smiled serenely. “We’re simply having a discussion about you while you eavesdrop. So really, who’s being the rude one here?”
“We’re about five minutes away,” Vlado said.
“From where?” Nick peered out the window. “You still haven’t told me what’s going on.”
“I thought we’d go shopping.”
“Shopping?” He whirled toward me, his expression hopeful and guarded in equal measure. “Like what kind of shopping?”
“Like the kind where you buy stuff.”
“Har har har.” He fake-laughed and rolled his eyes. “You’re soooo funny.”
“Your eyes are going to get stuck like that.”
“Google told me they won’t, so Imma keep doing it.” He rolled his eyes again, this time in a slow, deliberate arch. “Ow.” He squeezed his lids shut. “Remind me to not do it that way again. Can you sprain your eyeball?”
“No,” Vlado and I said together.
“Good to know.” He blinked rapidly, like he was clearing his vision. “So, shopping.” He made atell me moremotion with his hand. “Elaborate.”
“I’m taking you shopping so you can pick out what you’d like to have available while you’re staying at my house.”
“You really need to stop talking like you memorized a thesaurus.” He flicked my thigh. “Everyone in here knows you’re smart. You don’t have to keep trying to prove it with your big words and fancy sentences.”
Vlado’s lips pressed together to stifle a laugh.
“I’m taking you shopping so you can pick out your own wardrobe,” I said dryly, the corners of my lips twitching as I held back my smile.
“Really?”
“Really. You’ve dropped enough hints that you think my stylist has no taste and you’d prefer to choose your own clothes.”
“It’s not that she has no taste, it’s just that her taste is boring. It’s fine for you because you’resupposedto be boring. But my sparkle needs the freedom to shine, and it can’t do that if I’m dressed like an assassin.”
“An assassin?”
