Page 30 of French Martini

Sam grabs my phone from me and hits the speaker button. “Hi, person. This is Sam, Oakley’s friend. I’m helping style him, so I want to make sure I know what’s expected.”

There’s a steely silence on Lowen’s end, and I swear I can feel the chill from here. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re going shopping,” Sam says happily, seemingly unaware of the change in Lowen’s voice. I’m not though. “How many outfits does he need?”

“As I said to Oakley, he can wear a suit and style it differently.”

“Okay, but if he wanted to shop, what should he get?”

Lowen exhales slowly. “Two to three suits, four dress shirts in different colors, and a tuxedo would be sufficient,” Lowen rattles off in a flat, dry tone. “There are five nights in total.”

“And style?” Sam asks. “Traditional, edgy, modern?”

There’s another heavy sigh. “Whatever Oakley feels his best in.”

“On it.” He hands the phone back to me and pulls out his own phone to scroll.

I turn it off speaker. “Thanks, Lowen. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Yep.” He ends the call so abruptly I have to look at the screen to make sure it’s really over.

“Okay,” Sam says. “I know a place where we can get things mostly off the rack, but they have a tailor on site if needed. Head to the freeway and take the Revere exit.”

“Okay.” I check my mirrors then pull into traffic. I’m still reeling from Lowen’s attitude, but maybe he was just busy.

“By the way, your man is hella jealous,” Sam tosses at me, still scrolling on his phone.

“What?”

“He didn’t like itat allthat you have a male friend. Probably shouldn’t tell him how often you’ve made me come on your cock.”

I clear my throat. “It’s not like that with us. I mean, it is, but it’s one-sided. Or casual, maybe, is a better way to say it. He doesn’t want a relationship.”

He pats my thigh, chuckling. “Cute.”

“What’s cute?”

“That you think he’s not into you. Honey, I know a jealous man when I hear one. You’re going to have to fix it later. Is he pretty?”

I nod, even as my stomach twists. Is that why he was acting weird?

“Prettier than me?”

I glance at Sam. “Different.”

“Hmm. That means prettier. I’ll accept that, I guess. He’d have to be to keep you out of my bed.”

“Glad your self-esteem hasn’t slipped.”

Sam laughs, brushing his hand over his blond hair again. “Still going strong.”

I exit the freeway and drive down Revere street, finding a parking space. This is the swanky part of the city, lined with boutiques with names I can’t even pronounce. I never thought I’d willingly be here to buy clothes for myself.

Sam pops out of the truck and saunters into a store called Beauté. I follow him inside, but stop in the doorway, immediately overwhelmed by the sheer size of the selection. Sam waves his hand for me to follow him, then proceeds to rattle off all kinds of information about material, cuts, and fit as he pulls items off racks and piles them into my arms.

“Dressing room,” he says, pushing me in that direction.

I peel out of my jeans and simple tee and begin the process of trying on everything he pulled for me. I’ve never been a fan of trying on clothes, opting to buy the same brand of pants, t-shirts, and jeans online, but I have to admit, this is kind of fun. The clothes feel nice, and even better, they look good on me.

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