Page 48 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

I nod, squinting at the products still hanging on the wall. “This is a great idea, Dylan. I think it will boost sales and the shelter can use all the help it can get.”

“Maybe I have a future in retail,” Dylan says, as he switches to helping me take down the cat products.

“Dylan the merchandiser,” I joke. “You can do all of the retail windows in New York City. You’ll be the most sought-after window dresser around.”

“Window dresser.” Dylan chuckles.

“Oh, it’s a thing!”

He stops with a wall hook in one hand and a bag of catnip in the other and gawks at me. “Seriously?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t know that there are actually any sought-after window dressers.” I roll my eyes. “I think they’re really called visual designers. It takes someone with an eye for a good display. But they also have to keep up on current trends, like color and mood and, I don’t know, display related stuff.”

“Huh. Well, if gigolo doesn’t work out, I’ll keep that in mind.”

A laugh bursts out of me before I can suppress it. “You’re going to hire yourself out, huh?”

Dylan glances sideways at me, his smirk in place on his face. “You gotta work with the assets you’ve been given, Ava. And mine are all here.” He points to himself from head to toe.

I don’t even try to hold my laugh back. He’s too funny. “How much do you charge? I need a date to my brother’s graduation.”

Dylan stops what he’s doing and turns toward me. My back stiffens at the soft expression in his eyes. “First time’s free.”

The gravel in his voice makes me gulp. “I’ll keep it in mind.” I focus intently on the wall, hoping he won’t see the redness on my cheeks. I skim the wall, trying to spot any cat products we might have missed, but my daydreaming mind keeps straying to an image of Dylan escorting me to Joel’s graduation. For some reason, he is in a tuxedo while I’m in the slinky dress Julia Roberts wore as a prostitute in Pretty Woman.

I shake my head to clear the ridiculous thought away and force my attention back to the product wall. But, again, a tuxedo-clad Dylan holds his arm out for me. Luckily, my daydream has a wardrobe upgrade. I’m now swathed in a long emerald-green gown. I must lift the hem to step up the bleachers to climb to my seat.

What the heck is wrong with me?

I shake my head more violently.

“You okay?” Dylan asks.

I startle at his very real voice intruding on my very ridiculous daydream. I look at him with wide eyes. His intense dark gaze raises goosebumps on my arms. But I’m happy to see he’s not in a tuxedo, and we are not at the school football field.

He tilts his head forward. “Ava?”

Oh no, I’ve been staring at him for too long, haven’t I? Snapping my attention back to the wall again, I clear my throat. “I think we can slide the dog products over now.”

“Okay.” He draws the word out to make it clear my insanity confuses him. That’s okay, Dylan. Daydreaming about you confuses me too.

After successfully killing the levity that had risen between us, I work mutely. I mentally scold myself for falling for his charms. It sucks that he’s so easy to talk to. Why can’t he be the arrogant jerk I originally thought he was? Is it some sort of self-sabotage thing that has me falling for the person who pities me? Once he realizes I have a crush on him, he can pity me even more. Maybe I should see a shrink about it.

As Dylan slides the dog items down, I straighten the first column so that each item below is directly under the item above. Then I straighten the second column. When I finish it, I step back and review my work. I cock my head from side to side. “How far apart do we want the columns within each category to be? Is this good?”

Dylan steps next to me and studies the display. He looks over at the columns he made of the “others” category at the far end of the wall.

“Oh!” I exclaim. “Yours looks better.” I step forward to set my columns a little farther apart before starting to work on the third column.

Dylan has already rehung most of the cat products by the time I’m done futzing with the dog category.

“You’re a perfectionist,” he says.

“Nah.” I wave a hand at him, but then a series of memories flash in my head of Joel, Sam, and Bek all accusing me of the same thing. I drop my hand. “Okay, maybe.”

He chuckles but his attention remains on his work. I join him in rehanging the cat products.

When we’ve hung and arranged all the products, we step back to admire our work.

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