And it’s causing me some very distinct problems.
And that’s another reason why I’m not pushing anything fashion-wise. Instead, I steer him directly to the jeans and the simplest button-downs that I can find in ValuKart’s men’s clothing section.
But I do tell him he has to try them on before we can leave.
So that I know what sizes to tell him to look for when he shops for his own clothes later.
Not because it’s fun to watch him grimace under the watchful eye of the suspicious lady watching over the changing rooms.
That’s merely an added bonus.
“Is it supposed to be itchy?” he mutters to me from behind the closed door.
“Yep.”
Silence answers me, but I can sense him aiming a growly, aggravated face at me.
He is easily the grumpiest man I have ever met in my life, and Bea’s brother Ryker is pretty grumpy.
I’m beginning to think Oliver’s grumpies are permanent.
Probably also my fault.
“You should wash it before you wear it,” I tell him.
While not imagining him without a shirt on at all.
Stop it, stop it, stop it, Daphne.
The lady watching us squints at me.
I point to the door. “Just left a nudist colony,” I stage whisper. “He grew up there. It’s his first time off the naked compound.”
A very loud inhale from inside the dressing room tells me Oliver overheard that.
And I have now left myself thinking about Oliver completely naked, my brain filling in details about what his thighs must look like if his arms and abdomen are that buff.
This isnotwhat I need.
It’s not what any of us need.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The door swings open, and Oliver stares at me.
It’s the darkest, growliest, most dangerous stare I’ve ever seen on him, and I’ve seen plenty of dark, growly danger from him since I woke up in the back seat of his Mercedes SUV last night.
I suppress the wince I want to make, and I step into the doorway. “Turn around.”
He’s in a blue short-sleeved button-down that does unexpected things for his hazel eyes and one of the pairs of jeans I grabbed for him to try on, and he does not do what I’m telling him to do.
“I need to make sure it all fits right,” I mutter.
“I think I can tell if it all fits right,” he mutters back.
“Did you bend over? Sit down? Test how it feels when you’re moving?” You’d think the questions aren’t necessary, but they are. This man is accustomed to tailor-made clothing for his entire wardrobe.
I’m completely certain he’s never seen the inside of a ValuKart, much less the inside of a ValuKart fitting room.
