Page 18 of Better Late Than Never

I squirmed under his scrutiny. “I don’t think I’ve ever considered whether what I’m wearing will make someone notice me or not. Just… not big into wild colors, I guess?”

“So I won’t talk you into a Hawaiian shirt?”

I scoffed. “You first.”

His eyebrow rose. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“You wear Hawaiian shirts?”

Grinning, he gave a little half-shrug. “I spend all goddamned day in camouflage. When I go out, I don’t like to blend into the background, you know?”

“So… you do wear Hawaiian shirts.”

“I’ve been known to, yes.”

I tilted my head. “Maybe it’s because I’ve only seen you in camos and…” I gestured at him. “But I’m struggling to picture you in a Hawaiian shirt.”

Grin still firmly in place, he whipped out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, then turned it for me to see.

And sure enough, there he was—sunglasses, a backwards baseball cap, and the loudest red-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt I’d ever seen.

Though if I was honest, that only vaguely registered because I zeroed right in on the white T-shirt he was wearing under it. On how it sat snugly across his chest and abs, the shadow of some ink just starting to peer through the thin fabric, and?—

I laughed to get my breath moving as I tore my gaze away from the photo. “Okay, so you do like bright and loud.”

Alex chuckled and shrugged as he pocketed his phone. “Guilty. Like I said—I’m wearing camo all day.”

“So am I. Maybe I need to start brightening things up.” I shifted my weight. “So, um, is there anything in here that would be passable for a club, though? Or do I need to go shopping?”

“Sure, we can work with this. Easily.” He skimmed over the clothing on display. “There isn’t a super-strict dress code anywhere. It’s mostly wear what you like and what you like to see on other guys.” He paused. “If we were hitting up someplace on Ibiza or something, then I’d say to wear as little as possible.”

I blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Mmhmm.” He met my gaze and must’ve seen my incredulity. “It’shot, amigo, and it only gets hotter when you’ve got fifty guys dancing with no sense of personal space.”

“Oh.” I swallowed. “Right. I, uh… That makes sense.” And now was definitely not the time for me to be thinking about what Alex might or might not wear in a situation like that. Or just how close he’d get to those other guys or?—

“I guess the question is, do you want to blend in or stand out?”

It took me a moment to land on an answer, and that was only in part because I’d been momentarily distracted by thoughts of Alex on Ibiza. I chewed my lip and considered it. “I… Well, I don’t really want to blend in.” I laughed nervously. “Kind of defeats the purpose in a place like that, doesn’t it?”

“Depends on what you’re hoping to get out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I you’re just there to get a feel for it—figure out the vibe, figure out of it’s your scene—then maybe you don’t want to be noticed. There’s nothing wrong with being a wallflower while you’re trying to get your feet wet.”

“I guess?” I swallowed. “What would you do in my shoes?”

Alex rocked his head from side to side as if he were thinking about how to answer. “I… honestly think I’d be intimidated as all hell.”

I straightened. “You would?”

“Well, yeah. I started going to clubs when I was like sixteen. Back when I was young, stupid, and fearless.” He met my eyes, and his were filled with a startling amount of sincerity. “I won’t lie—I can’t imagine venturing out into that in my thirties.”

“Or forties,” I muttered.

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “I’m not trying to talk you out of it or scare you away from it. I just—I get it, you know? It’s a new scene. New world. Stepping out into that without the immortality of being young and stupid…”

---