Page 105 of A Real Good Lie

At least it wasn’t Brooks Brothers.

Jace stared at himself in the mirror, smoothing his hands down the button of a suit jacket which seemed to magically lay itself flat with no intervention. The whole thing was navy blue wool with a crisp white button up. He undid the button and let the jacket fall open, and he leaned closer to the mirror so he could make out the swirls and shapes of the dark brocade pattern on the vest.

“How does it fit?” Callahan called from the other side of the dressing room door.

Jace banged his forehead against the mirror, cursing under his breath. He forced himself to calm down, then snapped a picture of the suit, texted it to Carmen, and then to Remington. He tossed his phone back onto the rumpled pile of clothes that actually belonged to him.

He reached behind him and flipped the lock on the door. It cracked open, and Callahan slipped inside, latching it closed behind him. Their stares connected in the mirror, and then Callahan dragged his eyes down the length of Jace’s whole body.

“You look amazing,” Callahan rasped.

Jace shivered, the want in Callahan’s voice so thick it was nearly tangible.

“Do I?”

Callahan stood a step behind him, his head angled to the side so he could see past Jace’s shoulder.

“This color is good on you.”

Jace traced his fingers over the lapels of the jacket, then shrugged out of it and carefully hung it back up on the hanger before turning to face Callahan. He rested his hands on Callahan’s waist and dropped his head low onto Callahan’s shoulder.

“Please don’t buy this for me,” he whispered.

“What?” Callahan grabbed his hands.

“It’s too much.”

“It’s nothing,” Callahan protested.

Jace pulled his hands out of Callahan’s hold and backed away until he was flat against the mirror. “Maybe for you,” he said, “but not for me.”

“I want you to look nice for Friday.”

“Don’t I normally?” Jace spat. He plucked at the buttons on the vest until it was undone.

“Of course.” Callahan moved toward him, taking the vest before Jace could drop it onto the floor.

“This isn’t me,” he said, beginning work on the buttons of the dress shirt. “It’s too much.”

“Alright. Then we won’t get it.”

“It’s not a we,” he snapped. “Youwanted to get it. You. Your money.”

“Jace.”

When he managed to untangle himself from the shirt, Callahan reached for him, dragging his fingers over the soft lines of his stomach, just above the fine, black leather belt that held up his pants.

“Jace,” Callahan said again, moving his hands around to the small of Jace’s back and holding him steady. “Hasn’t anyone ever bought you a gift before? Just because they wanted to?”

Jace bit the tip of his tongue between the back of his teeth and turned away from Callahan’s stare, pulling open the belt and tearing it out of the loops. He shoved the pants down his legs and reached for his own, yanking them off the ridiculous wingback chair in the corner of the dressing room.

He pulled a little too hard, forgetting his phone was on the pile, and he sent it flying. It clattered against the wall, landing on the tiled dressing room floor. Face down.

“Shit,” he muttered, bending over to inspect the damage.

The screen had been broken before, but now it was almost fully shattered, cracks covering nearly half of the screen.

“Shit,” he said again, pulling on his jeans and shoving the useless hunk of metal and plastic into his pocket.