Page 11 of Show Me How
Concern digs between my ribs. “What’s wrong?”
“My corset is too tight. I’ve been tied into it since this morning, and it’s starting to really hurt.”
“Can I help?”
She freezes, a genuine glimmer of appreciation appearing in her eyes. “Would you?”
I’m already off my stool and standing behind her. The gauze from the front of the dress isn’t on the back piece. I stare at the red skin appearing just slightly above the corset and frown.
“How do I undo this?”
“I don’t know,” she says, voice wavering.
The only idea I have might piss her off, so I tread carefully. “Do you want to tell me why you’re in a wedding dress, Millie?”
“I was supposed to get married today.”
The air stills around us. “But?”
She shakes her head before taking long swigs of her beer. When she’s drained it dry, she says, “But I didn’t. I ran from the aisle, got in my car, and now I’m here.”
“So, it’s safe to say you’re not going to be getting married in this dress again?” I ask, still waiting for my brain to catch up with what she’s said and what that means for her.
Her laugh is almost sad. “Yeah, I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Give me one second,” I say before moving from our seats to the opening in the bar that leads behind it. It takes me a bit tofind what I’m looking for, but then I’m clutching the scissors and going back to Millie.
She watches cautiously, staring at the scissors like I’m going to toss them at her instead of what I’m planning on using them for.
Stepping back into the spot behind her, I trace the length of the top ribbon. She sucks in a breath, and then I risk touching the red skin that’s hiding beneath the corset. It looks sore, like it’s been rubbed raw all day.
“Stay still for me, Millie,” I mutter.
She doesn’t so much as breathe when I bring the scissors to the ribbons and cut them one by one. I pinch the side of the dress in case the entire thing gives, but when it doesn’t, I relax my hold. Instead of falling off, the top of the dress simply slouches slightly, the tension in the material disappearing.
“Oh, my God,” she half moans, half gasps while pressing the front of her dress against her chest. “Thank you.”
Without answering, I drop the scissors on the bar and tug my hoodie off. Millie tries to look over her shoulder at me, but I’m already starting to lower the heavy black fabric over her head. She doesn’t fight me on it and works her arms into the sleeves instead.
“You don’t have to hold it up now. Not unless you think the dress is going to fall right off onto the floor,” I say, returning to my stool.
Without my hoodie on, I’m instantly cooler. It’s not that it’s hot in here, but I’d be lying if I said being this close to Millie hasn’t cranked my body temperature up a few degrees.
Her blue eyes soften when they find mine, holding there. She looks so ridiculously tiny now, with the sleeves of my hoodie hanging a few inches past her fingers and the bottom hem passing the seat of the stool. I’m a smug bastard, though, and I like looking at her in it.
“Maybe you’re not just a playboy,” she admits, smirking slightly.
“Yeah? That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten, princess.”
Returning my foot to her stool, I add my other one and lean forward. She watches me trap her in place, not saying a word. It’s a testing gaze, almost like she’s trying to see just how far I’ll go before she has to set a boundary.
If she were anyone else, I’d love to find those boundaries. But for some reason I can’t pinpoint yet, I’m having more than enough fun staying right where I am.
“You haven’t gotten very good compliments before, then,” she tosses back.
“Maybe I’ve just been getting the wrong ones.”
Millie lets that go when her attention shifts to my newly exposed skin. The surprise that morphs her entire demeanour is something I’m used to. It’s the typical reaction from someone who hasn’t had a lot of experience around vibrant pieces like mine. Considering nearly every inch of skin on my body is covered with some sort of ink, I’ve grown immune to other people’s reactions.
