Page 18

Thankfully she doesn’t wait to hear if I say it back. She just scrambles out of the car, digging her cell phone out of her purse before I even pull away from the curb.
I go backto Anton’s.
When I walk in, he comes out from behind a curtain with a small flourish like a magician, a smile on his face. As soon as he sees me his smile wavers. “If you’re here to complain about the way I treated Miss Jessica—”
“What? No.” I shake my head and shove my hands into my pockets. “I’m here to buy the dress.” When all he does is stare at me, I clarify. “The red dress. The one Tesla Castinetti was trying on.”
Anton laughs at me like I just told him I needed a place to park my spaceship. “That dress is a size zero. No matter how much she wants to be, Miss Jessica is not—”
“It’s not for Jessica.” I push it out through clenched teeth. Buying a dress shouldn’t be so goddamned hard. “I’d like to buy it for Tess.”
Now he’s looking at me like I just pulled a gun on him. “That dress is thirty-five hundred dollars.” When I don’t finch or tell him he’s obviously on drugs, his shoulders relax. “It’s hand-sewn. Made of imported—”
“I don’t care if you cobbled it together out of magic beans and a jockstrap,” I tell him, reaching into the back pocket of my jeans for my wallet. “Just wrap it up.” I pull out my Amex and hold it out to him, giving it a little jiggle when he hesitates.
Stepping closer, Anton takes my card before scooting behind the front counter. “She’ll need shoes and…” He looks down to punch a few buttons on the credit card machine. “undergarments.”
Undergarments.
He means lingerie.
“Okay.” I nod like he didn’t just nearly inspire a cardiac event with a single word. “Whatever she needs.”
Jesus Christ. What am I doing? First I corner her at Benny’s and now I’m buying her panties?
“Would you like to see our selection?” He looks up at me. “Maybe choose a few—”
Fuck yes, I do. The thought of her wrapped in silk and lace that I bought of her, I picked out, I touched is enough to make me a little light-headed. “No.” I shake my head and hold out a hand like he’s trying to offer me drugs. Which he kinda is. “I don’t want to see any of it—” yes you do, you fucking liar. “You know her sizes and what will look best. You pick it out.”
Now he’s smirking at me like he can read my mind. “Of course, Mr. Gilroy.”
I snatch my card out of his hand and jam it back into my wallet, while fighting the urge to wipe that smug look off his face. The fact that he’s as old as Methuselah makes it marginally easier to keep my hands to myself. Instead of choking him I shove my wallet back into my pocket. “Do you deliver?”