Leo’s gaze shifts down to the pile of clothing in my arms, a small frown forming on his face. He clearly doesn’t remember how many items he picked out either.
“Ten,” he answers anyway, the giant fake.
Lashes looks relieved to have something to do as she turns away to grab a large rectangular peg with the number ten etched into it, which was hanging from the wall alongside a bunch of other differently numbered pegs.
Leo takes the peg from Lashes with another radiant smile.
“Thank you,” he says politely. Then he gives my back a little nudge. “Go on, I’ll be right out here.”
I resist the urge to give Leo a sly kick to the ankle, which I think is very nice of me given everything that’s happened so far, and stride further into the changing room. There are a couple of stalls where people can try on clothes, and I choose the one furthest away from Leo and Lashes.
From down the short hallway, I hear Leo strike up a meaningless conversation with Lashes, for God only knows what motive.
Leo and his apparent need to befriend every single person he comes across is baffling to me. But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. He picked me, a superhuman assassin, up off the street and had me reincarcerated by his government, then spent weeks trying to wiggle his way under my skin.
He’s certainly a strange one.
I try on the bundle of clothes, discarding most but keeping a few. One piece, a black leather jacket, feels so comfortable I decide to wear it out, pairing it with a green hooded jacket, a white T-shirt, and some dark jeans Leo threw at me as well.
When I have all the clothes separated out, I leave the cubicle and rejoin Leo, who seems to be continuing his apparent plan to flirt withallthe salespeople.
He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, emphasising his muscular biceps as he talks animatedly to Lashes.
Lashes, for her part, has a fit of the giggles. She keeps doing that fast-blinking thing. Being all fluttery or whatever. It makes me want to smack her. Like, hard.
I’m self-aware enough to know it’s probably a bit much to feel animosity towards Lashes just for giving Leo the classic, world-renowned cow eyes.
Leo looks over at me when I reach them, and his friendly smile changes slightly to something more. I don’t know. Not genuine, because Leo’s smiles are almost always real. But. More personal, maybe. Especially tailored just for me.
It’s absurd how much better it makes me feel about whatever’s going on here.
I hand over the clothes I don’t want to Lashes, who takes them from me with professional courtesy although I can see the disappointment in her eyes that Leo’s attention has been unequivocally snatched away by my reappearance.
Once I’m holding less stuff, my new state of dress is more obvious, and Leo’s eyes sweep up and down my form a couple times. His gaze travels slowly back up to my face, and I see something flicker in Leo’s expression. A whisp of oxygen giving new life to an ember.
“You look good,” Leo compliments. “Jacket suits you, Kitty.”
I ignore the flush of heat that washes through me like the initial blast of humid air in a hot country, choosing to focus on the annoyance that nickname spurs inside me.
“Call mekittyagain, and I’ll belt you one.”
Lashes appears mildly horrified by this, but Leo just snorts out a laugh.
“Put the hat back on, Spartacus,” he says, taking the offending hat back from Lashes and holding it out to me. “Give the people what they want.”
I snatch the hat away from Leo and immediately lob it over his head, making sure to scuff the top of his hair so it sails through the air and lands somewhere outside the changing rooms.
Leo pretends to make a shocked, horrified expression at me, raising a hand to his mouth to cover his obvious amusement.
“You ready to go?” I ask before Leo or Lashes can react in any other way.
I’m expecting Leo to make some kind of smart remark or possibly apologise to Lashes on my behalf, but he doesn’t do either.
“Yeah, let’s get a shift on,” he says, sparing one last flirtatious grin for Lashes before he leaves the changing rooms with me.
On our way to the counter to pay for the clothes I’ve picked out, Leo asks me, “You feel like getting something to eat?”
Momentarily thrown by the casual question, it takes me a few hanging seconds to respond.
