Page 31 of The Enforcer

Tommie spun around. “You don’t date? As in, never have?”

Hector leaned against the wall. He had a feeling this was gonna take a while. “You don’t need to date to get laid.”

“Awww, a dating virgin.”

Hector rolled his eyes. “I’m a lot of things, kid, but no virgin.”

“Well, it does explain the clothes. I mean, seriously, all you’ve got are jeans, cargo pants, tank tops, and flannel shirts. And for some reason, all of it is in either black, white, or Army green. We have to remedy that.” Tommie’s eyes shone bright like a fucking diamond, clearly preparing himself for the makeover of a lifetime.

Hector sighed. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Now what makes you say that?” Tommie smiled. “I’ll have you dressed in no time.”

Tommie’s innocent smile should have made alarm bells go off. Instead, Hector, the simpleton he was, had actually believed they’d be done ‘in no time.’ But as another hour passed by and Tommie dragged him into yet another department store, he got the feeling they weren’t nearly done. It was like standing at the foot of a mountain, looking up and up, as Tommie dismissed another salesperson and stacked piles of clothes into Hector’s arms.

There were so damn many people in the store. They were everywhere. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this trapped.

“Let’s hope these fit,” Tommie mused, as he ushered him into a fitting room. “Never shopped for someone your size before.”

The quiet of the small cubicle was actually a blessing. He tried on two shirts, both too small. Tommie handed him another two from the pile. Two of them actually fit.

Finally.

A saleswoman came over. She scrutinized his chest, her hands going over his shoulders to check the fit. Her fingers brushed over his pecs. “Oh, my. Your chest is so large.”

“Hands off, dudette. He’s taken.”

The woman turned crimson as Tommie gave her the stink eye, then she drooped off.

“I’m done here,” Hector growled.

“But I have all these other—”

“We’re fucking done.” He pushed the ones that had fit into Tommie’s hands.

“Fine. We don’t have much time anyway, since we still have to get you a haircut.”

“Touch my hair and you’ll lose your hand.”

A chuckle followed, and Tommie coughed, eyes all innocent. The little shit was baiting him, and Hector fell right into his trap.

Tommie tapped a finger on his chin. “Now, what to do for shoes?”

Oh, hell.

***

At o-seven-hundred sharp that evening, Hector stood at Mary’s door. He had wanted to do this all proper and shit, picking her up from her home. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous when he rang her doorbell. It wasn’t like he hadn’t prepared for their date night. He knew Mary’s background. She was used to pretty, sophisticated things. He was a lot of things, but sophisticated wasn’t one of them. Still, he was going to try. He got Gio to make a reservation at a French place you could only get in when you were a member. He’d even borrowed the company car, so she wouldn’t have to sit on a bike.

He smoothed back his shoulder-length hair and winced as he tried to break in his new Italian design shoes. He didn’t feel comfortable out of his combat boots.

When Mary opened the door, sporting a big smile, he decided his squashed toes were worth it.

Her eyes roamed over his body, looking surprised to see him in a dress jacket. He had ditched his cargo pants and put on a new pair of jeans. Tommie had tried to hoist him in some dress pants, but no store sold them in his size—thank fuck—and it took at least a day to have them custom made.

“You look great,” she said, as she closed the door and took his hand. “I’m glad I dressed up.”

“You look pretty.” She looked fucking magnificent in her khaki mini skirt and white top.

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