Page 15 of Savored Sins
“What the hell, Zeke?” I demand. “Are you for real right now?”
“No, it’s an illusion,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I snap to my feet, toss the measuring tape back on the desk. “Dude, that’s unacceptable. You need to get it together.”
“Hey, Itriedto shift positions, and you told me to stand still?—”
“Because I needed to measure you!”
Zeke’s face goes sly, and one corner of his mouth twitches. “Well, looks like you forgot a measurement, didn’t you?”
“God, you’re a child,” I say, huffing out a breath. “I’m sure you’ve takenthatmeasurement plenty of times yourself—probably have a certificate hanging on the wall somewhere: ‘This is to certify that Zeke Holloway, with his twelve-inch dick, has taken the prize for?—”
Zeke grins, unperturbed. “You think I’ve got a twelve-inch dick?”
I flick an exasperated hand at him. In truth, he’s got me flustered. It’s not that I’membarrassed, per se. It’s more that he’s making things difficult by blurring the boundary lines I’ve set up in my mind—boundaries that I thought were obvious, given our differences in age and general approach to life. But now…
Now, I’m not so sure.
Because Zeke’s watching me like he’s waiting for me to decide something. And I don’t know what that something is.
“Okay,” I say, striding behind the desk and busying myself with a stack of papers. “Listen. You’re young. You’re horny. I get it. We’ll chalk it up to an accident. But let me be clear: If we’re going to be working together in any sort of professional capacity, thiscannothappen again. You got that?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Zeke says, waving a hand at me. “I’ll be sure to think of roadkill or something next time you’ve got your hands near my junk.”
I snort, but I know he’s not going to argue. From the sounds of it, he needs that pilot competition entry every bit as much as I need him for my fashion show.
“Perfect. Now, I’ve got to put some outfits together for the display window, so if you could change out of those pieces and leave them with me, that’d be great.”
I flash him the most normal, not flirty smile I can muster, and Zeke heads behind the curtain again to get changed back into his street clothes.
When he comes back out, he looks a little sheepish, but he saunters over to the desk where I’m still pretending to flip through papers. “About the filming…”
“Yeah, what about it…?”
“I was kind of thinking we could do it Thursday night.”
“We?”
“Well, yeah. I figured you’d be in it with me. It’s your house. You’ve got all the tea.”
“There’s no tea.”
“Okay, well,” Zeke waves a hand. “You’ve got the anecdotes. You know the history of the place. Viewers’ll like that shit.”
I sigh. Zeke’s just full of surprises today. But honestly, whatever—on camera or not on camera, I don’t really care. I just want Zeke out of my hair, because even though he’s back in his regular clothes, my mind’s still stuck on the hard-on. And that Arctic Monkeys tee isdoingthings for him.
God, the Arctic Monkeys are probably, like,oldiesto him. Fuck.
“Fine. Thursday.”
“Perfect. I’ll text and remind you that morning.”
Zeke’s smile is smaller, more subdued as he pushes the pieces he just tried on—his folding job is surprisingly neat—into my arms. He waves and is out the door without another word.
As I watch him swagger past the window and on down the sidewalk, the midday sunshine kissing his sleek, tanned forearms, I draw in a shaky breath. For what feels like the fiftieth time today, I remind myself that Zeke Holloway is my best friend’s fiancé’slittle brother. He’s twenty fucking three. And not just that, he’s one hell of a player—I clocked him the first time we met.
The thing is—and it’s dangerous to even let myself admit this—he’s alsofun. He’s fun to banter with, fun to flirt with, fun to think about taking risks with. He’s fun tolookat. He’s everything that high school Autumn would’ve gone nuts over—everything that college Autumn left behind without another glance when the illustrious Patrick Carroway and his prudish, old money family swept her off her feet.
