Shepherd stalked to the door and yelled, “Get your ass over here before I drop you off in a hospital morgue!”
Wyatt scowled at him for a moment before adjusting his slouchy beanie and swaggering out. Half his shirt was tucked in, revealing a belt with a skull buckle. I rarely saw him in anything but those beat-up black cowboy boots he wore beneath his jeans, and today was no different. “Top score!” he cheered.
These men had no sense of social conduct.
Wyatt crossed one of the bridges and then appeared in the entryway. “What’s the scoop?”
“We should start rounding everyone up,” I said, eager to get back home. “Did you get what you needed for Blue?”
“Yup.” He patted a bag stuffed in his back pocket and grinned handsomely. “Buying some sexy shoes, Mistress Black? You won’t find any in this dump.”
I gave him a light smack with my bag. “I’m done picking out my wardrobe. Too bad Christian stayed home. I’m sure he would have liked seeing me try them all on. You guys are gonna die when you see what Claude got.”
Wyatt scratched his head. “You let him pick out his stuff?”
“No. Christian gave us a shopping list based on Shepherd’s feedback, and we weren’t allowed to deviate from it. Claude’s pissed, but he’s going along with it.”
Wyatt wagged his finger at me. “Don’t you eventhinkabout leaving the house without putting on a fashion show. So… why are we growing roots in the shoe store?”
Shepherd jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Waiting for the kid to decide.”
Wyatt tried on a pair of mirrored sunglasses from a standing rack. “I think he decided.”
We both turned.
Hunter balled up his fists and smiled from ear to ear. His shoes were neon pink with sparkly butterflies on the sides. His heels weren’t tucked all the way into the shoes, which were clearly too small for a boy his age.
The salesman noticed us looking and came to investigate. “Those are for girls. Are you a girl? Of course not. If you go over to the little-boys’ section, you’ll see the blue and green sneakers. Let’s put these back in the box before you get them dirty.”
Shepherd’s entire body went rigid. He stepped up to the salesman and squared his shoulders. “Box up those sneakers in his size or I’ll putyouin a box.”
“Sir, those don’t come in a larger size.”
“What other colors you got in his size of that shoe?”
Roger huffed and scanned the shelves. “White, purple, and… No, that’s it. Just white or purple.”
“Butterflies?”
“Yes. But they’re little-girl—”
“Get them. Now.”
Roger snapped his mouth shut when he caught the volatile look on Shepherd’s face.
On the verge of tears, Hunter stepped out of the shoes and hung his head.
After the salesman left to run his errand, Shepherd sat down on a bench next to Hunter. “You wear whatever you want, little man. Stupid rules are for stupid people.”
Wyatt tucked his sunglasses inside a sneaker on display. “I once went through a phase of wearing an earring in my right ear. I had so many guys hitting on me. Maybe the penny loafers didn’t help, but I was in fashion.” He shrugged at me. “It was the eighties.”
When the salesman approached Hunter with the shoeboxes, Shepherd got up. “What’s your point?”
“It doesn’t mean he’s gay.”
Shepherd swaggered up to Wyatt, his voice low and dangerous. “So what if he was? Think I care?”
“I’m just saying you can be straight and play with dolls.”
