Page 43 of The Mourning Throne
“No.”
“Okay, but what aboutthisone?”
“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 wasdone. The shopping thrill was over. His feet hurt, he was starving, and he couldn’t keep guessing whatwarmmeant whenredwasn’t right.
One more look like that—like Lex had asked for the square root of fuckingdespair—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. Everythingabout it looked smug.
That would be mean, right?
That wouldmaybecross 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’tquitelook like a bra, but didn’tnoteither; the label saidbralette.
“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—”
