I heard her footsteps, always light, as if she were dancing through this life. Heard her fingers pushing hangers again. She considered something, decided against it, and her steps moved farther into the store, back to where shadow and dust collected.
Back where she’d probably find some rare antique or magical item and win the damn bet while her shell-shocked husband hid in a changing room.
“No you don’t, Lula Gauge.” I opened my eyes and blew out a breath. “I want a shower tonight. I want a soft damn bed. That means hotel. That means I’m winning this bet.”
I tossed the pile of clothes on the folding chair, made quick work of pulling the sleeves of the shirts over my arms, but didn’t bother with the buttons.
“Blue works, don’t like the other two button downs, and who cares how tight or loose a T-shirt fits? No one cares. I’m not trying them on.”
“Are you arguing with your clothes?” Lu had circled back and was standing right outside the changing room.
“Almost done,” I said, embarrassed I hadn’t noticed I was thinking out loud. I’d done so much of it when I was a spirit, it was hard to remember to keep my mouth shut.
“The jeans. You’re not leaving without a pair.”
“A man can dress himself,” I grouched.
“Not when a man thinks wool in August makes sense.”
“The wool fits.” I toed off the shoes that jammed my toenails. I dropped trouser. The rush of muggy air against my bare skin was absolute heaven, and I tried not to groan in relief.
“You’ll like the cut of the denim,” she said.
“Pants are pants, Lu.” I tugged on the blue denim, zipped, buttoned. “Huh.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Do you like them?”
I shoved the curtain to one side. “Pants are pants…” The rest of whatever smartass thing I was about to say died on my lips.
Lu liked what she saw. From the heat in her eyes and the pink splash across her cheeks, she very much liked looking at me, shirtless, shoeless, in nothing but a pair of jeans.
“But these aregoodpants,” she almost purred.
I couldn’t help it. I gave her a wink. “That so?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“They fit how they should?” I asked, holding my arms out to the side as far as the changing room would allow, shamelessly giving her the gold-ticket show, not wanting her eyes on anyone but me.
She took that one step closer, every line of her body gone from playful to predator. “I like them.”
“That so?” My throat had gone dry, and the words sort of crackled up and blew away.
“But I love the man in them.” She came to a stop, placing her cool fingers on my left hip, right above the denim waistband.
That smallest amount of skin on skin was shocking, thrilling.
I swallowed. “Well.” I swallowed again. “Isn’t that something?”
“It is,” she said not moving closer, but somehow making my skin go even hotter.
I was absolutely wordless.
“Buy them.” She tugged on the belt loop, and I missed the cool pressure of her fingertips. Missed that solid, real contact. Missed being reminded I was alive and she was alive and there were a whole lot of things we could do to celebrate that. “Put on your shirt first. You’re making a scene.”
