Page 26 of Filthy Sweet

Fox:Reggie, hey man. Do you still need a new suit?

Reggie:Hey buddy! No, I ordered one online last week. Why?

“Don’t order a suit on the internet, you dumbbell,” I grumble to myself.

Fox:Thought I might take you shopping again.

Reggie:No, thanks. You should invite Owen, though! He needs work clothes.

“Goddamn it!”

Yesterday, I told myself I was going to put a little distance between myself and Owen, but it’s like the entire universe, Reggie included, keeps pushing us together.

The motorcycle rumbles between my legs, and I open back up the message to Owen, unable to stop myself.

Fox:I owe you for keeping me company. Let me buy you some party clothes?

* * *

OWEN

As I walk through the double glass doors of the store, something shifts, and I start to believe Fox might actually like me.

My brain kicks into overthinking mode, listing out all the reasons that’s ridiculous and improbable. Fox is just being nice. He even takes Reggie shopping sometimes. And if this were something else, what future could we have? He doesn’t seem like a relationship guy, and I don’t fit in his world.

Not to mention Reggie’s possible feelings about it. Would my brother even approve?

But then I see Fox across the store. There’s orchestral electronic music on the speakers, and under the high ceilings, what looks like luxury men’s clothing is tastefully spread about, hanging on metal racks and stacked on wooden shelves. Fox is dressed in a charcoal suit, worn casually open with a black T-shirt, and his wavy hair is combed back, styled more than usual. He walks straight toward me, and all my overthinking evaporates.

“Hi,” I say. I throw my arms around him for a hug, then step away quickly, his scent rich in my nose, like autumn leaves and sweat. “Thank you so much for offering to take me shopping. You really don’t have to.”

“If I invite you to a party, and you don’t have anything to wear, then it’s my job to fix that.” Fox raises an eyebrow. “No?”

I smile, really happy to see him again. “If you say so. I have to admit, I have no idea how to buy nice clothes. I tried to google it, but I only got as far as trying to measure my inseam with a plastic ruler before I gave up.”

“No problem.” Fox nods toward the back of the shop. “I got us a room.”

“A room?”

He smiles, eyeing me, and his gaze is like a heatwave across my skin. “Yeah, a room. Come on.”

I follow Fox to the back of the store. There’s a big red door, which he raps on casually, and a moment later, a friendly man in a light blue suit opens it.

“Fox. We’re all ready for you.” The man in the suit glances me up and down. “The sizes should work. Just let us know if we can get you anything.”

“Champagne,” Fox answers. “Thank you.”

I follow him into the little room, where a rack of clothing waits. There are mirrors on the walls, and a red curtain hangs over one corner, providing a dressing area across from some loveseats. “What exactly is this?” I ask, embarrassed that he’s going to so much trouble for me.

“Personal shoppers. They’re available to anyone who spends too much money here, and I spend way, way too much fucking money here. I asked them to pull a couple things for you.”

I glance at the garments, which run a range from bright, flashy fabrics to muted colors. It feels really nice that Fox is treating me, but I’m doubtful that I’ll be able to pull off any of these outfits, and I’m definitely not used to this sort of attention.

The door swings open. “Champagne,” the man in the blue suit says, then hands off two flutes to Fox.

“Thank you!” I call after him, but he’s gone as quick as he came.

Fox hands me a glass. “Ready to try on some clothes?”

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