“Open it,” Blake says, smiling and giving me such an impish look I can’t stay mad, not even at myself for acting out in front of him.
“Open,” he says slower, teasing me with his voice as well as his eyes now.
I cave in, and ripping the small box open, I nearly die when I realize what it is.
It’s not the package I thought it was.
It’s the underwear I ordered online.
Big, ugly granny panties for when I have my period.
Horrified, I squeeze the box shut again, turning redder than a tomato could ever be, wishing the ground would open and swallow me up.
“What is it?” Blake asks again. “Why won’t you show me?” he teases, moving to snatch the box but I yank it away from him.
“It’s none of your damned business is what,” I shout, feeling my hair come loose and hearing my breath hot and quick after I snarl at him.
His face falls in a second. He looks hurt and then recovers himself.
“Sorry, Krystal. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just fooling around,” he says softly. Slowly.
Like a mature adult would.
Like a real man does.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he adds, creasing his mouth and moving over to the sink, giving me time to stow the box or do whatever it is he thinks I might need a moment for.
There’s a long silence, save for the faucet running as he rinses his mug.
I wrinkle my nose and twist my mouth as I think for a second.
“Here,” I murmur, opening the box and holding up a pair, unfolding them so he can see everything.
I know they’re the right size but even I’m a little astonished at how big they look.
“My granny panties. For when I have my period,” I tell him point blank, expecting him to laugh or be grossed out. Wishing I could laugh, even just to break the tension of the moment.
Things were going so well until just now.
But he doesn’t laugh, and he doesn’t make a face. He doesn’t say anything horrible or unkind at all.
“You find stuff okay online?” he asks, genuinely interested. “I can’t get what I want in stores or online, have to have pretty much everything made to measure I’m so…”
“Big?” I offer, letting my eyes wander again, scrunching up my undies and stuffing them back in the box, but I catch his eyes following them.
I shrug, feeling awkward now. “I guess they fit. Kind of having them comfy is the whole point,” I add and he nods thoughtfully.
“Like I was saying,” he continues, not missing a beat. “I was thinking about doing some shopping of my own. Maybe you could help me out with another ride?” he asks, and I ask him about his own car.
Forgetting all about my embarrassment in a microsecond.
“In the shop. Long story,” he says, rolling his eyes and thumbing towards the kitchen window.
I see his point straight away. “Is that the loaner they gave you or a spare car?” I ask, noting how much smaller it is than my dad’s car.
“Loaner,” he sighs and that settles it. I’ll take him shopping. I’ll do anything if it means being around him a little longer.
I find it hard to believe he has all his clothes in a suitcase in transit somewhere, but seeing him in his suit pants and a T-shirt strikes me as something he wouldn’t usually wear at home let alone out.
“I thought you had everything tailored?” I ask him, wondering how he could just ‘shop’ for that sort of thing.
“My guy’s good,” he replies instantly. “He keeps a lot of things ready to go, only takes him a minute to throw together some outfits. I use him all the time,” he adds.
“Sounds pricey,” I add, thinking out loud and making Blake laugh quietly.
My stomach groans and I realize maybe why I’ve been a little more emotional than usual.
“We’ll get dinner too,” Blake informs me, a matter of fact.
When he’s like this he doesn’t sound rude or arrogant at all.
It’s almost like he’s just reading the world, like a manual or a set of instructions, dictating what’s going to happen next.
“Maybe we could eat first,” I suggest, feeling like I’ll fade if I have to sit through hours of a man getting tailored outfits made up.
“I’ll call the tailor on the way, just duck in and then we’ll eat. How about it?” he asks, and I feel an instant compromise.
“Sounds perfect,” I almost sigh, unable to take my eyes off his chest in that damned T-shirt, wondering why he can’t just stay wearing that and maybe nothing else.
“Did you mean what you said earlier?” he asks me with his trademark intensity, guaranteed to make me shiver. “About being mine for the day?”
I nod without hesitation, wanting to add ‘and all night,’ but I think we’re a little way off from that just yet.
And not because of Blake Mason. No Sir.
It’s me who’s trembling in my boots, from sheer excitement with just a touch of still pinching myself.
Chapter Eight
Blake
It’s almost dark by the time we head out again.
For someone who just came ‘home,’ I’m kinda glad to see the back of the place so soon.
No slight on Krystal or her dad’s efforts at keeping a roof over their heads, but I’m used to a different type of house in a very different type of neighborhood.
Krystal deserves way better, and I’m just the man to give it to her.
If it was just my clothes I wanted, I could just go back to the airport and pick them up, but I’d rather not have to explain to Krystal why my luggage is at the airport.
And I’d rather get her away from that house, that neighborhood.
Some new things for us both are what I have in mind, and some dinner of course.
I’m hungry for more than just her too. I think we both need a decent meal after the afternoon we’ve both had.
I can appreciate Krystal showing me her underwear she bought online as well, I’d give anything to see her in just that right now. But my tailor has a wife, who runs the adjoining boutique.
I won’t say anything just now, I’ll let Krystal make her own mind up once we get there. I’m sure they can fit her out with something just as comfortable as well as some things a little more deserving of her own stunning beauty.
She seems deep in thought as we get further from her home and her neighbor’s place. She seems quieter than usual, which I put down to her maybe being hungry.
“We could grab something to snack on, before dinner,” I suggest but she doesn’t seem to mind about food all of a sudden.
“Hope it’s nowhere special,” she adds, remarking on the dinner suggestion.
“I am in just jeans and a sweater,” she reminds me.
I smile to myself, turning away slightly so she won’t catch my smile.
For now, you might be. Just for now.
Wanting to know all about her still, I start quizzing her on her studies. Her interests, which I learn are mainly based on photography.
Something I know very little about but need to act like I know something, being a phony magazine editor and all.
She becomes much more animated and I feel I’ve hit a rich stream, talking about things that interest her instead of boring everyday things.
If only she knew how much I’m struggling to keep the everyday seem that way. This is hard work so far, but well worth it.
While I listen and she drives, telling me about her most recent internship since finishing college, I text my tailor, David of David and Daphne’s.
Warning him I’m on the way and asking him to be prepared for a double appointment.
You get what you pay for in this life, and David has no problems following instructions. I mention I’m bringing a female friend as well, so his wife knows to expect a new client.
I get a thumbs up from him, so I can give Krystal my full attention, quizzing her on what she likes most and least about anything and everyth
ing I can think of that’s photography-based, which I know isn’t much.
The drive to the city is a stretch longer than the airport. These new suburbs get further and further away every time they build them, but with some directions and the fortune of a decent parking spot, we’re at the tailor in time for their regular hours to be over.
“They won’t be closed?” Krystal asks, making an ‘O’ shape with her mouth when I tell her that we have an appointment already.
“We?” she asks further, waiting for me to get out of the car first for some reason.
“Yep,” I confirm.
“By way of thanks for everything today,” I explain. Trying hard still not to take her hand or put my arm around her once she’s within range.
It feels like the most natural thing for me to do, but I remind myself that although I’m close, I’m way off from staking my claim let alone claiming her as my own just yet.
She misses my look, which I know is filled with longing for her.
She’s distracted by the sheen of the gold-colored awnings and shining brass fixtures out front of my favorite and only tailor.
“Daphne’s waiting for you,” I murmur, holding the door open, noticing the smiling pair waiting by the doorway to greet us.
“This is Krystal Carter,” I let them know. “She’ll need to be measured and fitted with an outfit for every occasion, but we’ll need something for dinner wear this evening,” I remark.
The oldest of the pair, an eager and astute Daphne nods patiently with a smile. Letting me know she understands without another word what I want.
A wardrobe for my queen, and with no expense to be spared.
“And for you, Mr. Mason?” David asks, playing his part to perfection and making me feel good to be able to be me for a change.
“I’ll need some casual wear and something a little dressy for dinner as well,” I remark, looking down at what I’m currently wearing.
He doesn’t bat an eyelid, only ushers me through to the men’s side of the business as I give Krystal a reassuring nod to follow Daphne for her own fitting.
“Something to snack on would be great, David,” I add quietly, knowing that if I’m a little weak from hunger, Krystal must be feeling the same.
Before starting with the clothes, he lifts a handset and murmurs some instructions. His hanging up is all I need to know that it’s all taken care of.
Within ten minutes a couple of trays of sushi arrive with chilled mineral waters.
“Excellent choice,” I remark to my tailor, who gives a little bow as he smiles.
I watch the other tray disappear towards Krystal, hoping she likes fish.
Raw fish at that. I never even thought to ask.
Bringing out a selection of old favorites of mine, I let David know which I’ll take now and which to send out to the house.
“Your house?” he whispers, really reading ahead in the situation.
“Uh, actually. No,” I tell him quietly, scratching the address on the back of one of the business cards he has in holders placed around the boutique.
“Very good,” he comments. “And dinner? Do you have reservations anywhere?” he asks.
“Got me again, there.” I have to admit.
I’ve been so distracted with Krystal I hadn’t even thought about it.
“Fellini’s, seven-thirty?” he suggests, carefully hanging a suit jacket and reaching for the handset again, making my mind up for me as I nod with satisfaction.
Fellini’s will be perfect.
If this dynamic duo weren’t so busy, so successful with their own business, I’d hire them full time.
I’ve already asked a half dozen times over the years, but no. They’re too much in love with what they do and it shows.
What would I have them do if they did come work for me?
Who cares, they’d do it so well they could just say hi and bye to me every morning, setting out my clothes for all I care.
Between filling the gap in my hunger and picking out what I’ll wear tonight, I can’t help but wonder what Krystal’s choosing.
Admitting to myself that this is probably as much a treat for me as it is for her, but she can have this every day if she wants.
And a thousand times more, without ever having to even ask.
Fortunately, I don’t have long to wait. My stuff’s easy to pick and choose from, with David having a ready supply on hand of what I usually want.
Without any warning, Krystal comes in, leaving me totally speechless.
Even David takes a breath in, nodding his approval.
“Daphne’s really outdone herself,” he comments, filling the space where I should say something but I just can’t.
I’m utterly speechless.
I can see Krystal with her hair down for the first time, in a full length, strapless white dress that shows off her curves without showing too much of her cleavage.
I don’t want her on show for the whole world, but this is enough eye candy for me at the same time.
She seems nervous, but noticing my silent approval, she steps closer and turns for me. Letting me see her from every angle more than a few times.
“It’s not too much?” she asks. “Daphne said we’d probably be going someplace fancy, so…”
I finally find my voice.
“I think it’s perfect. You look perfect,” I tell her, moving to take her hand and twirling her one more time, although a little awkwardly.
She’s got matching new shoes on too which seem a little higher than she’s used to. A clutch purse in the same material completes the outfit and gives her a place to keep her phone and keys.
“Just tell me you’re happy. Tell me it’s what you want.” That is all I can ask of her in front of anyone else.
She gives a nod, leaning in to murmur she’ll pay me back every cent if it’s too much.
“It’s for helping me today,” I remind her, adding, “I hope you got more than just one dress. You’ve been gone for over an hour.” I laugh.
She flushes with embarrassment as Daphne appears, giving me a silent nod of approval. Letting me know the job’s been done and done well.
“We’ll have the finished pieces sent on, most likely tomorrow or the day after for most of Krystal’s things,” she tells me.
I hold out my arm, letting Krystal know that dinner awaits.
“Hope you have room,” I ask her, feeling my own belly grumbling already.
“How did you know I love sushi? Or was that them?” she asks in a low tone as we’re bid a very good night by two tailors who could probably close for the rest of the month and still be in front.
“Lucky guess,” I tell her, mentioning we’ll be traveling from Japan to Italy courtesy of Fellini’s which makes her gasp, gripping my arm tighter.
“That’s like the fanciest restaurant in town,” she squeals in disbelief.
And worth it, every single dollar to be with someone so priceless. So perfect.
Chapter Nine
Krystal
Blake’s so busy telling me how good I look that I barely have enough time to even try and compliment him. Not that he needs it.
The man fills any clothes so well, but they’ll always play second to his own handsome good looks and his rugged charms.
I almost faint when he takes my arm like a real life prince charming, casually letting me know we’re off to the fanciest restaurant in town.
I want to protest and tell him I’ll at least pay for dinner, but apart from still only having a hundred dollars to my name I know he wouldn’t hear of it.
The least I can do is insist on driving us there when he suggests we get a private car so I don’t have to drive.
Neither of us drinks, I discover so there are no problems with me driving. Except for maybe these heels, and trying to focus on the road.
There’s something about a handsome man in a black suit and crisp white shirt. Gets me every time. And Blake sets a new standard that I know nobody else could matc
h let alone beat.
The valet at Fellini’s takes care of my dad’s car once we arrive and in moments we’re seated. The waiter giving Blake a strange look as he looks from me to him then back to me again.
The waiter shakes his head, smiling and Blake makes a low sound of disdain as he starts to move away after giving us our menus.
I ask Blake if everything’s alright and with an effort he composes himself, telling me he’s fine. But I can clearly see he’s not.
Not having to even wonder if it’s me that’s upset him, I follow his eyes as they mark the waiter, narrowing with a look that would scare me if it was pointed at me.
“Blake? What’s the matter?” I try to laugh it off, but it catches in my throat.
“I just don’t like the way he looked at you is all, a place like this. He should know better.” Blake growls under his breath again.
It’s a full minute before he looks like his usual self, but it registers with me that there’s a side to Blake I don’t know. One that isn’t just talk.
Those muscles and his huge body, along with his strength could really hurt somebody.
“Are you going to eat with a scowl?” I ask him, still trying to keep it light, borrowing one of my dad’s favorite expressions.
From all those times I just sat at the dinner table and made a face instead of conversation when I was younger.
“Sorry, Krystal.” He apologizes. Bringing his hands up from under the table I can see the marks where his fingers have dug into his huge palms as he’s made two fists which he’s finally relaxing.
“Uh. This is all in French,” I tell him gently, confessing I have no idea what to order.
“Italian.” He smiles, correcting me but laughing with me, not at me.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” I ask. “You think paying so much they’d make it easier, not harder.”
Someone from the next table overhears me, an older woman who makes a tutting sound and rolls her eyes before whispering something to her even older looking husband.
“We can go someplace else if you want,” Blake says finally, looking like he thinks it’s a mistake to have come here.
Not My Neighbor: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 5
