Page 14 of Savored Sins
“So I take it things didn’t end well with this Patrick dude.”
“Uh—yep. You could certainly, definitely say that.”
“Why? What happened?”
I glance up at him in the mirror. He’s gazing at me, still completely chill. The fact that he’s so laid back about it when he asks is… I don’t know,refreshing. I’m used to family and friends always lowering their tones when the subject of Patrick comes up, drawing out their condolences like it’s some kind of pity party. And here’s Zeke, asking in the same tone of voice he might use to ask me why I had a sandwich for lunch.
So I answer. “He couldn’t keep it in his pants, and I got tired of it. There’s only so much a girl can take.”
Zeke’s eyebrows raise. “Damn.”
“Well, you asked.”
“Nah, not that. It’s just—” Zeke pauses mid-thought, like he’s groping for a word. Then his features smooth over again. “Never mind.”
“Keep your arms loose.” I loop the tape around his biceps. It’s impossible not to notice how solid his arms are. He may be long and lean, but the kid definitely works out. “Anyway, yeah. Patrick’s a douche, and his family misses exactly zero opportunities to let me know my shop exists solely due to their ‘continued support’.”
Zeke scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, they never thought I could turn a sustainable fashion line into anything. Patrick always called it my ‘little hobby’, and since I rent this place from his parents?—”
“Oh, shit. You rent from your ex’s parents?”
I wrap the tape measure around Zeke’s hips, trying hard to ignore his tight, muscled ass. “Yep. I need to scale a bit before I can afford anything else as good—hence this fashion show. Ireallyneed it to go well, ideally attracting some high-end clients from Boston and New York. But that’s if I get lucky.”
“You don’t need to getlucky.” He gives a quick jut of his head toward the rest of the shop. “I’m not a fashion expert, but—like I said—this stuff iscool.”
“Well, thanks—and thanks for this, by the way. Agreeing to walk for me.”
“No prob. It’s a mutual favor.”
I kneel in front of Zeke to measure his inseam, and he guffaws. I ignore it, partly because I don’t want to encourage his frat boy behavior, but mainly because I realize my heart’s sped up a bit and I just want to get this over with.
I’ve done this a million times, for a million different people—measured a million different inseams. There’s really no reason for this to be weird. It’s Will’s little brother, for Christ’s sake.He’s hot, sure, but he’s also twenty-three. And anyway, I’m measuring his jeans, not going down on?—
Nope. I willnotcomplete that sentence. I am aprofessional.
I place the end of the tape measure against the very top of Zeke’s inner thigh, trying to keep my mind on the task at hand andnoton the fact that my fingers are about a half inch away from his crotch right now. I can already feel my face starting to burn. Damn redheaded genes.
Not lingering longer than I have to, I follow the tape measure to the bottom of Zeke’s pant leg and?—
“Stop moving! You just made me lose the slack.”
“Well,geez—how am I supposed to know? You didn’tsay,‘Yo, Zeke, don’t move’!”
“I wasn’t aware I’dhaveto. God. Whatever, just hold still.”
Zeke doesn’t answer, so I start my measurement again, trying to get the burning in my face under control. I make a mental note of the inseam length and drop the taut end of the tape as fast as humanly possible. Then, folding the hem up just a touch, I take a pin from my mouth and place it horizontally along the fold. I pull back a second, squinting in my attempt to judge whether the hem now falls at the place I want it to.
“You like that length?”
I glance at Zeke in the mirror, hoping my cheeks aren’t still flushed. He nods, so I pin along the rest of the fold and do the same to the other pant leg. I’ll need to measure it properly later, but it’s good enough for now.
“Alright,” I say, placing the last of the pins and turning to look up at him. “I’ll do the alterations tonight or tomorrow, so I think we can do another fitting on?—”
I stop.
I’m still kneeling on the floor, rolling up my tape measure, and as my gaze just traveled up Zeke’s pant leg to face him again, I noticed something. Something tenting the fabric of his jeans.
