I cleared my throat. “Um, Berry? I’m obviously not here for myself, so—”
She placed her hand on my arm and she gripped me tightly, so tightly I could feel her fingernails digging into me through my hoodie. “We never assume who someone is buying for.”
“Then why did you ask if it was for my wife or girlfriend?”
She batted her overly long dark eyelashes at me. “I was curious.”
Oh, for shit’s sake. This is the last thing I needed. She is flirting.
I gently stepped away as I pretended I was taking in all the choices, creating a foot of space so she’d let go, which she did.
“Do you know her size?”
That would’ve been good to know, Marshall.
“Do you have, like, comparison charts or something?” I asked.
She looked like I’d asked her if her mother was part horse or something—completely disgusted. “Ah. No.”
And like that, whatever vibe she was giving off to me had all but evaporated.
Wasn’t she suppose to maintain some level of professionalism even in the midst of my stupidity? I couldn’t imagine I was the worst of the worst that came in here?
“Well,” I said. “I guess I’ll…guess? Can she return it?”
“Sure.”
“What size do you wear?” I asked, pointing to her chest.
As soon as the words left my lips, I not only regretted them, I regretted I was even alive.
Disgust from her turned to vile revulsion.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “This was inappropriate. Maybe it would be better if I shopped on my own.”
“Probablyyyyyyy a good idea,” she said.
She was gone with a hair toss before I could even apologize again. After several steps, she stopped and turned. “Sir?”
And now I was sir.
“Yes?”
“It’s only underwear,” she said. “No need to be so nervous. Men come in here day in and day out, okay?”
“Oh, I know that. It’s just—”
“And no matter the size or anything else, I’m sure she’ll love whatever you pick out for her.”
Mental note: Leave some free shit or something for Ginger for Berry and the girls here to make up for the fact I was an immature asshole.
Her advice was the best kind. It was enough for me to walk that store with my dignity and manlihood intact. There was no shame in the way I tore through the racks and piles of lacy thongs and push-up bras. When I was satisfied I had gone through all options, I ended up heading up to the register, where Berry was ringing up a woman in front of me. Just as I stepped up and put my choices down, she…stepped away.
I deserve that.
Berry stepped away, and from a door behind the register bar a young gentleman with a handlebar mustache appeared, with more tattoos than I had, which was a fuck ton a lot.
This place was as twisted as the town it was housed in. Just when I thought I’d seen it all, something surprised me. And this was coming from a native Chicagoan, a place where the weird and unusual was about as common as raindrops being wet.
“All set?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
He laid out my selected items in front of him, one bra, a cutesy polka-dot number with matching boy-short thingies. Imagining her on a rare lazy morning, lounging in it, or in my kitchen like she did sometimes. Imagining coming up behind her, kissing her across the back of her neck as she stood in front of the stove.
Her leaning back against me, my hard dick rubbing up against those shorts, her ass.
My hands wrapping around her waist, running my hands across her smooth skin, her soft stomach, before raising to her breasts.
Her breathing increasing against my touch, my fingertips.
My kisses travel from her neck, her clavicle, along the jugular vein of her neck, her pulse vibrating against my lips.
And then her neck turns, and she licks her lips.
“Mmmm,” she hums.
She closes the space between us, pressing her lips to mine. I taste it immediately—whatever was left on her lips—although I didn’t know what it was.
The tip of her tongue taunts mine before sliding in against it.
Sweetness.
Sugar.
And she smiles against my lips; a soft giggle emerges before she pulls away.
“You put a little sugar into everything you do, don’t you?” I ask her.
She turns completely, pressing a kiss against my chest, as her hand reaches down, her palm running the length of my erection.
“Breakfast here? Or in bed?”
It was almost enough for me to become inappropriately hard in a retail store.
Sales dude cleared his throat loudly. “Sir?”
“Ah. Yeah. Huh? Sorry.”
“Do you want me to take the prices off of them?”
“Sure.”
He tore off the price tags along the perforated edges of my spank-bank outfit, and then the other I’d picked out, which was the closest thing to dirty-trashy I could find. A lacy black thong with tiny hip straps that wrapped around an almost opened ass back, before tying in a small bow.
Teeth unwrapping that bow.
Fuck.
And a coordinating push-up bra that if my estimating on size was close meant her tits would look fucking amazing in it.
Not that they didn’t already.
“Do you want me to put it in box for you?” he asked.
“Yes. Definitely yes, right?”
“It’s a nice touch,” he said with a smile.
When everything was all neatly packaged up in the box, a satin ribbon wrapped around it, he slipped it into a pink bag and handed it off to me. As I took it, I realized what a huge mistake I’d just made, not with the purchase, but with the bag. And the box inside.
I was manly enough to admit I was a bit of a Neanderthal upon arrival, but I was past that. What I wasn’t past was the fact I’d have to walk back to my car, which was parked in front of Ginger, to put the bag in. If I ran into anyone who knew me, how would I explain the lingerie bag?
“Something else?” the dude asked, confused.
“Damn it. This is…uncomfortable, but can I ask you to take it out of the box?”
“Huh?”
“I’m trying to keep it a secret, and if I’m walking back to my car with this, I can’t hide it.”
He shrugged like he didn’t give a fuck and took the bag back from me.
Huh. Maybe there should be more men working here to help the other clueless assholes, like myself.
Once everything was placed back into the shopping bag, I was ready to get the hell out of there before I did anything further to humiliate myself.
Note: Next time. Order online. Overnight this shit.
I headed out the front door, wedging the bag under my bulky gray hoodie for the quick walk around the block to my car. With my arms crossed tightly in front of me, I tried my best to conceal the purchase, without possibly arising suspicion from passersby that I was concealing something concealable…like a weapon or something. It seemed ridiculous, but clearly, I was at that moment.
I made quick steps down to the light, and as soon I turned the corner, to where both Ginger and my car was, I crashed into someone.
“Hey, Marshall!” Wells exclaimed.
Because of course.
“I was wondering where you were,” he said. “I saw your car when I got here and figured you went to get coffee. Tried calling your cell a few times because the accountant called and needs to talk to you.”
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll be inside in a second,” I said.
“Also, the dude who’s painting the mural called and asked if he can start tomorrow instead of today. I told him calling the morning of, when he is supposed to start, and telling us he won’t be around isn’t exactly professional. He got a little snippy with me, and now he only wants to talk to you.”
The bag began to slip slightly, and I adjusted my arms to keep it in
place. I nodded to Wells while I tried to think of an escape plan.
“Great. I’m going to run and get coffee,” I said, turning toward the crosswalk.
“One more thing,” Wells said, stepping in front of me. While similar in height, his huskiness made him seem enormous compared to me. “Did you tell Courtney that she could switch her shifts this week and next week with Maggie, Brandon, and Miles?”
“Ah. Yeah. I think so. I’ll check when I get back in.”
“Great because—”
I fiddled a tad too much, and he caught me adjusting my package.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes moving up and down from my package to my eyes.
“Nothing,” I snapped. “Can you wait until I go get a coffee and get inside before you start dropping all this shit on me?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Wells asked.
His eyes narrowed in further, to the bulge under my jacket, the crumpling of the bag under my hoodie. “What are you hiding?”
“Again, nothing,” I said, attempting to step around him. “Want anything from Black Horse?”
He blocked me and poked my chest. “You’re acting really freakin’ weird, and you’re totally hiding something here,” he said, tapping the bag.
If I told him, I’d have to come clean about Al and me, and I wasn’t ready to do that.
“Dude? What is it?” he asked.
He wasn’t going to let this go, and judging by the look on his face, he was scared something was really wrong.
“Are you…?” He leaned in close, his hand still on my package, and whispered, “Is it drugs? Are you in trouble?”
“Oh, for shit’s sake,” I said, slapping his hand away. “Are you insane?”
“All I’m saying is, I’ve got your back. No matter what.”
Telling him anything at that point was going to be better than the road he was traveling down. I was going to give a little of the truth and keep the rest hidden. It’d have to do.
“I’m not hiding drugs, you dumbass. Just,” I said, looking around, “come with me to my car.”
“You got it, boss,” he said, puffing out his chest like a peacock. “Whatever you need.”
I walked along the curb, turning my head back to Wells. “Relax. I’m not hiding a severed head under here and not asking you to help me bury the rest of the body.”
“I would,” he said.
I knew he totally would.
I stepped behind my car and popped the trunk from my key fob. As I lifted it, I moved in as close as I could.
“Come here,” I whispered.
With his size, he was able to block anyone from seeing behind him as I pulled my package out of my hoodie. Wells’s eyes squinted for a moment before his ginger beard was lifted up high from smiling so large.
“Ohhhhh,” he bellowed.
“Shut the hell up!” I tossed the bag in the trunk and slammed it shut. “Christ. So much for discretion.”
“Sorry. It was unexpected, man. And for the record, no judgment.”
“What do you mean?”
He put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a rough pat. “I get that you want to keep this under wraps, and I swear I’ll keep it to myself. There’s nothing wrong with kink.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Could he have already figured out Al and I?
“Look, Wells—”
“Not another word about it, boss. People are into all their own kinds of stuff. To be honest, you’d be surprised at some of the things I’ve decided to try, you know, of a sexual nature.”
Oh God.
Please.
No.
“So,” he said. “If wearing women’s bras is what you’re into, it’s not a big deal. I get if you don’t want to broadcast it. You’re a professional, a business owner, and whatever you do in private is your own thing.”
What could I do?
“Thanks,” I said. “Coffee?”
“Yeah. The usual,” he said.
I stepped around my car, waiting for the traffic to pass, before I ran across for coffee. Perhaps they sold some amnesia-inducing muffin that I could slam down so I could forget this entire morning—well, except for the morning sex with Al—happened.
“Hey, Marshall!” Wells said.
“What?”
“You know you can order all that shit online.”
And for once, I had to admit, that motherfucker had me beat.
Except for the fact that when I gave Al the crumpled bag of lingerie later, she was shocked as hell.
“I still can’t believe you did this for me,” she said, staring at them and commenting for the tenth time. “Thank you again.”
We were sitting on her couch, the fireplace going strong, after a long day.
“Yeah, and there was nothing easy about it. In fact, it was a goddamn shitshow. I mean, it was totally worth it, baby, and I’d do it again, but I’m never setting foot in that fucking place again. Plus, I ran into Wells when I was on my way to the car to drop off the bag. I had to let him believe the goods were for myself so he wouldn’t figure shit out.”
“Can I tell you something without freaking out?”
“I never freak out,” I huffed. “I talk and think with passion.”
She leaned over and gave me a quick peck. “I know, but still. Don’t freak out, okay?”
Shit. She didn’t like the stuff I picked out. Or maybe it was the wrong size. Women got touchy about that stuff. They’d get pissy if you got them a size that was too big because then we were implying they were fat. For the record, we aren’t fucking implying anything. We just don’t know any better. There were times I wanted to pen a letter to the world, with the intended recipients being the female population, and say, “If we are buying you an article of clothing, any article of clothing, be it lingerie, a concert T-shirt, a dress, or even a fucking old lady flowered housedress or some shit, it’s because we want to. It’s because we want to see you in it. Your body is beautiful, but don’t go down the path of self-destruction because I don’t know what the fuck the difference is between a size L and a size 8. It all looks the same to us.
“Okay. I won’t,” I said.
“I think Wells already knows.”
“What? How?”
“Because Phoebe knows.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose as I processed this. “And how does she know?”
“Did I ever tell you how intuitive she was? That she can look at someone in the eye, see so much truth there and if they are lying or not?”
“No, I didn’t know that, and I don’t care. I want to know how Phoebe found out.”
“Well, if you didn’t get so crabby, I’d tell you. She figured it out on her own.”
She was full of shit, and I was going to prove it.
“Is that so?” I asked. “And how did it come about?”
“Wellllll, she told me.”
“How did she tell you?”
“I had asked her about taking sexy selfies, and she wondered who they were for, but before I could deny anything, she said she knew it was you.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“How did you respond to that?”
“I told her it wasn’t.”
“So, she doesn’t know for sure, then. What’s the problem?”
“Because then I did tell her it was true.”
“Al!” I said, throwing up my hands. “Come on. Why?”
“Because I’m a girl, and whether you want to admit that or not, I still act like one at times!”
“Baby, I know you’re a girl. I know you are all girl, but really? What did you say?”
“All I said was that her assumptions were correct. That was it. She swore on her job she wouldn’t tell anyone, including Wells, who she believed didn’t have clue.”
I was so fucking confused.
“So, why would you think that Wells knows now?”
“Because Phoebe is a girl, too, a
nd there is no way she’s kept this a secret from him for this long. It’s too delicious not to.”
My head hurt.
“Look,” she said. “I’m not saying to broadcast it. We aren’t ready for that, and until we know how to handle things with Aaron, it’s best it’s kept on the down low. But Wells is around you daily and so is Phoebe, and they’re getting closer themselves. Don’t you think it would be okay, or even ease a bit of the running around and secret stuff, if he knew?”
I thought back to earlier in the day when Wells caught me acting funny and with the shopping bag. He was somewhere right now thinking I was wearing Victoria’s Secret’s best.
She had a point.
“But don’t get in to specifics,” she said. “Just tell him, whatever, that it’s just sex.”
Was that what she wanted? I wasn’t sure, so I asked.
“Really? Is that what you want me to say?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. It leaves less room for discussion.”
It was up to her, and I was completely fine with it.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Wells. On the third ring, he answered.
“Hello?”
“Wells? Yeah. Listen. Alexis and I are banging on the regular. The Victoria’s Secret bag? It was shit for her. If you tell anyone, you’re fucking fired and I will gut you like a fish. See you tomorrow.”
Click.
Short and to the point.
I tossed my phone next to me as I slid closer to Al. At least that was done with. No more sneaking, so to speak, at work.
“Okay,” she said. “Down to serious business. Which one of these getups do you want me to put on?”
“That depends?”
“On?”
“Will you make me breakfast in the morning wearing whatever I pick?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
“Get your sexy ass in the polka-dot number.”
Chapter Eighteen
Alexis—
We woke to rain on Thanksgiving.
Actually, I was woken in the morning by Marshall whispering in my ear, “Baby, it’s raining.”
And that was all I needed to become alert.
He rolled his body onto mine, and with nowhere to go, and no businesses to attend to on a holiday, we had a long, leisurely lovemaking session. When we were done, there was no rush to get dressed, no missed phone calls that needed to be returned.
So Wicked Page 20
