Page 11

Turning, cradling the cup like it might breathe life into his soul, Lex watched Morgan’s fingers fly over whatever legalese document they were on now. Pages turned. A pen clicked again, then underlined something.

Then Lex's attention shifted—landed on Gabriel.

And for a split second?

Gabriel looked so much like Steve that Lex couldn’t believe it. At all.

That distinctive sloped nose. The way he mouthed words as he read. Side profile sharp and soft all at once.

Wearing the same damn expression Wendy had when Lex broke it off. Officially. In person.

Gabriel looked pissed off beyond reason.

Lex shook his head, hard.

Jesus, he should’ve slept longer than an hour.

Seven cups of excellent coffee later, Lex stepped out of the too-quiet office feeling almost revived. The sun was warm, the birds were chirping, and his mind wasn’t hellbent on playing terrible tricks.

It was a good day again.

They’d barely been in the meeting for forty-five minutes. Long enough to smile and sort out a plan that didn’t make Gabriel look like he wanted to hurt them. But now they were free. They could’ve gone back to the hotel.

Lex had a better idea.

“Do you want breakfast?” Morgan asked as he tossed the briefcase into the back seat of the rental car.

“Can we go shopping?”

“Shopping for what.”

Lex grinned, already pulling out his phone to look up the nearest designer stores. “Clothes. I wanna look spiffy.”

Morgan rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t answer either, which Lex decided wasn’t a no. He climbed into the passenger seat, bouncing his knee as they drove, the city filtering in through the half-cracked window. The air smelled like fresh bread and the lingering tail end of morning rain.

They ended up in Mayfair. Posh as hell.

Surrounded by window displays of mannequins that stared too hard, lifeless and judgmental in tailored suits and waxy expressions.

Dark glass and brushed metal storefronts, expensive as shit.

The streets were quiet—no horns, no crowds.

Only the low murmur of refined money exchanging hands behind tinted doors.

Inside the first shop, all cool marble floors and whispered jazz, Lex made a beeline for the rack of jackets. He skimmed his fingers over the fabrics—wool, silk, something buttery-soft.

He stopped at a green velvet blazer with gold trim. “This one?” he asked, already sliding into the sleeves before Morgan could so much as blink.

Spinning once in the floor-length mirror, the fabric swished around his hips. “What do you think?”

Morgan glanced up, chuckled. “You look like someone’s rich uncle that’s dressed inappropriately for a funeral. All you need is a pipe.”

“Like, I killed them rich uncle, or like, my daughter did it for me ?”

“Take it off. You look ridiculous.”

“I kinda like it.”

Morgan stepped close and slipped his hands into the jacket, the movement so smooth Lex barely registered the chill of his fingers against his neck as the blazer peeled away.

“It’s the wrong color for you,” Morgan said, adjusting it on the hanger. “Greens make you look sickly. Pick something warmer toned.”

“Yeah… gonna be honest with you, Morgan. I have no clue what that means. Warmer like red?”

Looking around, Morgan grabbed a lightweight jacket—thin and crinkly, with a texture that looked like it belonged to a couch in his grandparent’s rec room. He held it under Lex’s chin.

Orange.

It was fucking orange .

“This one,” Morgan said, nodding.

Lex snorted, louder than he meant to. “Should I be disco dancing?”

“Are you going to continue complaining or are you going to trust me? I’m more than happy to sit in the car and let you flounder on your own.”

Well, that would’ve taken all the fun out of the experience.

Lex bit back a sigh and pulled on the bright, goddamn monstrosity. He was going to look like a traffic cone with hair .

Maybe Morgan didn’t have the fashion sense Lex thought he did. Maybe Morgan had his clothes picked out—

Alright. Fine.

In the mirror, it wasn’t nearly as god-awful-ugly as Lex first thought. The orange wasn’t metallic, more copper than clown. Very autumnal.

He turned to one side, then the other.

“You like it, don’t you?” Morgan asked.

Admitting Morgan was right felt like swallowing nails.

They moved from one boutique to another, Lex grabbing everything that looked fun— but functional. Something he could wear out at night and to meetings.

Every time, he held it up first.

“What about this one?”

Morgan's answer was always the same.

“No.”

“Okay, but what about this one?”

“Try this one on. Now. Before my eyes begin bleeding.”

And every goddamn time, Morgan was right.

Talk about enough to both piss Lex off and simultaneously make him want to kiss him.

By the third store, Lex had to have Morgan start carrying bags. He was done . The shopping thrill was over. His feet hurt, he was starving, and he couldn’t keep guessing what warm meant when red wasn’t right.

One more look like that—like Lex had asked for the square root of fucking despair —and he was throwing himself into traffic.

“If I die right now, give me a soldier’s burial,” Lex muttered, slowing mid-sidewalk as the next shop came into view.

The window was glossy and soft-lit, lined with bras and panties. Lace draped over mannequin hips like and plastic tits. Everything about it looked smug.

That would be mean, right?

That would maybe cross some weird, unspoken line.

Right?

The thought made him grin.

Far too interesting to pass up.

He grabbed Morgan by the wrist. “Come on.”

Morgan didn’t budge. “That’s a lingerie shop.”

“I can read, too.”

Lex didn’t wait for permission. He tugged harder, physically dragging Morgan toward the door, ignoring the looks from a couple walking past.

The bell chimed overhead as they stepped inside.

Instantly, the air changed—thicker, warmer, laced with perfume. Too many florals stacked together into something syrupy. The scent made the back of Lex’s throat feel fuzzy.

Everything was overdecorated. Mauve carpet. Velvet chaise lounge. Pale pink walls with pretty silver swirls. Like stepping into someone else’s fantasy—with walls that blushed for you.

Morgan sighed. “Why are we here?”

“Because I always felt like a freak going into one of these places alone.”

Morgan said nothing. Of course he didn’t. He looked like a marble statue someone accidentally dropped into a boudoir catalog.

Lex dove straight into the rack closest to the door, dragging his fingers across satin and lace. Something that didn’t quite look like a bra, but didn’t not either; the label said bralette .

“What size do you think our cat is?” he asked. “Small or extra small? ”

Silence.

He lifted his gaze to meet Morgan’s, eyebrows raised.

Morgan wasn’t dense—uncomfortable, yes, which was absolute fucking gold—and after a few seconds, Lex watched the realization settle in.

“In this store..?” Morgan asked, even quieter than before. “I’m not—”

“Would you wear anything here? I’d rather die.”

“That’s a very specific style of kink, Lex. It’s not for you or I to judge.”

“Who’s judging?” Lex held up some off-white thing. Almost see-through. The kind of thing that would disappear under tears.

What would Ollie do if they told him to wear it? Break entirely? Or just say yes, thank you, please?

The bows were kinda cute, though. “I think it’ll be fun to watch.”

Honestly, Ollie would probably apologize for not filling it out right.

For breathing wrong.

For existing at all.

And that? Totally made it worth the ￡60 price tag.