Page 25 of Wingwoman
“Have you ever heard of Lucchese?” I asked as I carefully opened the lid.
Inside, a beautiful pair of black alligator skin cowboy boots gleamed back at me.
Based on Max’s hiss, she clearly had heard of the brand. “He did not get you Lucchese!”
I lifted the boot in my hand, the leather soft, yet firm all at once. Beautiful and completely impractical. “They’re an expensive brand?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? They’re one of the most designer and expensive cowboy boots you can buy!” she said. “They’re locally made in Texas, too. Send me a pic!”
I wasn’t exactly a cowboy boot sort of girl. And come to think of it, I didn’t think Max was either. “How do you know that?” I asked as I fired off a quick picture to her.
“I grew up in Tennessee, remember?” I heard a ping, then after a moment, Max gasped. “Oh my God, Hope! Those boots run four thousand dollars!”
Four thousand dollars? Was he insane? “Well, I can’t keep them.”
Max groaned. “Don’t give me that whole cliché.”
“What cliché?”
“That whole:Oh, I couldn’t possibly keep these! It’s too much!” She raised her voice several octaves, mocking a Disney princess.
“It’s not a cliché! It’s etiquette!” Yet, despite my arguments, I sat down on the couch and slid one of the boots on.
“Says who?”
“Um, Emily Post?” I actually had no idea who made up that rule. I crossed to the mirror and examined my reflection.
Good lord, they were gorgeous. They’re not even my style and I could admit they looked and felt like butter. And also looked sexy with my skinny jeans tucked inside of them. They made my legs look long and slender and the bit of a heel added to my height. I never would have picked them off the shelf, not in a million years. But now that I had them on, I was hooked.
But I couldn’t keep them. If I did, it was as good as saying yes to being his muse. Especially with that beautiful Atticus quote he’d tucked into the notecard.
“Goodbye, boots,” I said wistfully, tucking them back into the box.
Max sighed. “Byyyyyye, boots,” Max repeated. Then she added, “And I should really go, too.”
She blew me a kiss and then hung up. I tossed the phone onto my bed and grabbed some sweatpants and a tank top from my dresser. As I was brushing my hair, my phone rang again.
I swiped to answer, not looking at the name. “What? Is Brent holding my Prada ransom too, now?”
“Not sure what you mean, but if you accept my offer to be my muse, I’ll buy you all the Prada you want.”
Josh.“Sorry, I thought you were my girlfriend back in New York.”
“I get that a lot.”
My eyes went to the boots, now tucked neatly back into their box. “Lucchese, Josh? Really?”
I could practically hear his cocky grin over the phone. “Don’t you like them?”
I snorted. “Well, they’re no Louboutins,” I said sarcastically.
“Hmmm, noted,” he hummed and I could practically see those dimples divoting his cheek as he pressed his lips together. “Did they at least fit?”
They did fit. Perfectly so. Which brought up a whole other line of questions… like how the hell did he know my shoe size?
“Not the point, Josh.”
“I mean, that is sort of the point. If they don’t fit, I need to exchange them for a size that does. But I could have sworn you’d be a size seven.”
