Page 63 of Wild Pitch
More than okay, but I still answer, “They have flats too, not just heels.”
“Whew.” She puts a hand on her chest in relief.
“You two look phenomenal,” the clerk says as she walks back up to us. To me she says, “The stylist has also arrived.”
“Stylist?” Garcia parrots.
“Great. Also, I think I’ll just take this shirt,” I say as I pop open the sleeve buttons and work on rolling it up. It registers after a long moment that there is absolutely no noise other than the fabric rustling of my sleeve, and the jazzy music.
And it’s because both women are staring at my arm.
I stop moving. Yet they still don’t react.
What’s the deal?
“Uh, we’ll also need shoes for her,” I say tentatively. “Garcia, what’s your shoe size?”
“A ten.” She jerks. “What? No. I don’t know why I said that. I’m an eight. Size eight—not me. I’m not an eight.” Then she drops the world’s most awkward laugh.
The clerk also unfreezes. “What style would you like?”
“Nothing with heel, please.”
“I will bring you some options in a quick moment!” The clerk races back out to the floor.
Meanwhile, Garcia approaches closer. Her eyes get diverted for a second as I start rolling the other sleeve, but then she wraps her arms around herself. “Starr, are you getting me a full makeover?”
“No, I know you don’t want any of that.” I push both of my sleeves as far up as they can go, and walk back to my ice tea for a healthy sip. “You’re not gonna get your hair cut and a full head of makeup or whatever. Just tell her what you want and she’ll do it.” Once I finish my little speech, I sit back down on the sofa where I don’t intend to move until it’s time to pay.
Garcia opens and closes her mouth, but the clerk returns not just with several options of what seem like sensible shoes, but also with a second woman in tow who carries a large case. They walk Garcia back into the dressing room to fit her with the shoes and makeup.
The saleswoman heads back out and I motion at her to take me to the register. I insist on paying for the men’s shirt because it’s not like it was her fault that Garcia stunned me so much that I couldn’t keep the drink in my mouth. After completing the transaction, she hands me over a bag containing Garcia’s work clothes and I do my best not to stare, even though my mind’s eye can clearly picture Garcia taking them off in that dressing room.
I’m back on the sofa finishing my tea when the stylist comes out, her packed case in hand and tossing a daring wink at me as she leaves.
I glance around, searching for an explanation about that when Garcia follows.
I don’t even pay attention to her shoes or the dress, and she doesn’t look drastically changed. Maybe her hair’s fluffier at the top. But there’s something about her face that glows even more than usual, and her lips are redder than before.
I could kiss them.
I could also drop kick myself in the ‘nads for thinking that.
“Well?” she asks expectantly, bouncing a little on her feet. Like she’s excited to go on this date.
A date that will be with Logan Kim.
There’s no hiding that I’m choked up as I say, “You look beautiful, darlin’. Do you feel like it?”
And of freaking course, this is when she chooses to blush all the way from her neck to the root of her hair. “Actually, I do. Thank you, Cowboy.”
And of freaking course, this is the moment when I realize I’m absolutely, thoroughly screwed.
CHAPTER 21
HOPE
Starr has been acting weird. It’s not that he’s normally a chatterbox or anything—he leans to the quiet side and when he talks, it’s to tease with that Texas drawl of his. But there hasn’t been much teasing this afternoon. In fact, except for when I tried on the dresses, he’s barely even looked my way.
