Page 72 of Falling for my Brother's Best Friend

I weave through the people, catching her right before she opens the door of the bar. Where did the shy woman who was practically velcroed to me earlier go? Her face was pasty white, and she looked so uncomfortable, but now I think she’d knee Slim in the balls if he tried anything on her. Is this what a near-death experience has done for her?

She pulls from my grasp and steps inside the bar. “Excuse me,” she says to a waitress passing by. “Do you guys sell T-shirts with the Poppy’s logo on it?”

I bite my lip and shake my head. Does she not see the Hooters-type clothes the woman is wearing? There are three rips across her shirt’s tit area, and it stops mid stomach.

“Are you looking for a job?” the girl asks, looking over Savannah’s shoulder at me. “Hello,” she says, her gaze roaming my body.

I’m not naive enough to think she’s shooting me a pair of bedroom eyes for any reason other than she wants what’s in my wallet. But Savannah looks from her to me, giving me the scowl I haven’t seen once this week.

“No, I just need to change,” Savannah says.

“Well, sweetheart, head over there.” The waitress points toward the corner where I already knew she could find their merchandise.

“Savannah,” I say.

She raises her hand when we have to stop to let a line of people through. “It’s fine. I knew you were kind of a man-whore, so I shouldn’t be so surprised by all this.” She waves at the sea of people in black leather and chains.

“What does that mean?”

A woman stops in her tracks, her eyes zooming right between my legs. I roll my eyes and keep walking, but when I catch the maddening Bailey woman, she’s standing in front of the clothing booth with wide eyes as though we’re at a BDSM store.

“Wow,” she says, her gaze wandering over every item.

“Hey, sweetie, can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asks. She’s wearing a replica of what the waitress was wearing. It might be the most conservative thing they have.

“Let’s go home,” I whisper in her ear, putting my hand on her hip.

Savannah glances up and there’s some fear in those baby blues, but she shakes her head. “No. I think I can pull one of these off.” She taps her wallet on the counter.

“Oh, sweetie, you can definitely pull these off,” the woman behind the counter says.

“Get her the Poppy T-shirt. Men’s extra-large.” I pull out my credit card, and the woman stares at me but never moves. “Hello?”

She eyes Savannah. “I think I’ll let the lady decide.”

Savannah giggles but continues to peruse the T-shirts. They’re all ripped across the breast area, all short and all tight. The only bottoms they have are skin-tight booty shorts and mini-skirts. If she puts those on, I won’t be able to control myself. Neither will any other male in her vicinity.

“The men’s long sleeve shirt looks nice and comfy. You must be cold.”

Savannah thumbs in my direction. “He’s trying to cover me up.”

The woman leans across the counter. “Men. Always trying to keep us down.”

She couldn’t have said anything more to Savannah’s liking. And after that, Savannah’s fingers are a fury of activity, pointing to different items and choosing sizes. Before I can do anything, she’s running Savannah’s card through the machine.

“Can you tell me where the restroom is?” Savannah asks her.

“Right down the hall.”

“Thank you.”

“Stop on by, I gotta see how hot you look in those.” The clerk nods at the array of black fabric in Savannah’s hands.

“Sure thing.” She waves and heads down the hall, not caring whether I’m behind her or not. She stops right before going through the door labeled with a picture of a cat. “Oh. Here’s a shirt for you.” She tosses it to me then grazes her fingers over the cat on the door. “How cute, they used a cat to label the restroom.”

After she goes into the bathroom, I shake my head and glare at the rooster on the men’s room. I should probably change in there, but I’m not taking any chances of losing her in this crowd, so I pull off my shirt, tuck it into my back pocket, and pull on the fresh shirt with a woman’s open legs printed on it and the words, “Poppy’s – Home of the Horny Biker.”

Crossing my arms, I wait outside the women’s restroom for Savannah. And I keep waiting, shaking hands with a few people who pass me. Just when I think she might’ve snuck out a window—because I’m acting like a protective father and she’s the belligerent teenager in this scenario—the door opens, and Savannah emerges.

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