“Welcome to The Closette,” I chirped, scurrying to head him off.
“Thanks, pigeon,” he said, his fingers warm in a brief caress of acknowledgment on my arm.
‘Pigeon?’ I stifled a laugh. What a bizarre term of endearment. The last person who’d used it on me had been a jerk classmate.
The customer’s smooth skin glowed all the prettier in this low light. But something glimmered through his sleek white hair: an arrow piercing slatted through the top of his ear.
A horrible, familiar tingle blared through my system like a defibrillator to my brain.
Angel.
This ‘silver fox’ wasn't an old man. He was the twenty-something playboy slacker from med school who’d slept through lectures, blown off labs, and flirted for study guides, now sporting a new style.
I couldn’t helphim. I couldn’tstandhim.
Releasing the tension in my fists, I snapped a thong free from the tangle, which launched another in Angel’s direction.
I clutched my makeshift slingshot, horrified.
Did I just throw underwear at him?
It struck the center of his spine, and he flexed on impact. Back muscles rippled through his shirt, and within an instant, he turned and snatched the offending garment.
Dazed, I swayed against a nearby display.
What just happened?
He caught that so fast. And I'd flung our wares at a customer in front of my boss’s daughter.
I crumpled in shame. “I’m so sorry.”
He played with the thong like a pitcher getting familiar with a ball. “Don’t sweat it. This isn’t the first time a girl's thrown her underwear at me to get my attention.”
My jaw unhinged. No way someone did that to him!
Besides,Iwasn't trying to get his attention. But now, unfortunately, I had it.
Angel lifted his sunglasses, his gaze narrowed in recognition as he crushed the thong in his palm. “Hey, pidge. You're a long way from the roost.”
I crossed my arms, bristling. “So are you.”
Had he been expelled? Flunked out? Or was he still enrolled and just shopping for a girlfriend?
His practiced smile gave nothing away. “I’m just browsing on a break.”
He spent his free time perusing women’s underwear? I wasn’t totally surprised. But did ‘just browsing’ mean ‘definitely not buying?’
Meg edged closer, reading us. Judging.
I didn’t want my first customer to be the guy who’d nudged the back of my seat and called me a "Teacher's Pet" for reminding him we couldn't talk during lectures.
“What about you?” He sidled up to me, dangling the thong from his hooked fingers. “Are you playing with underwear for fun, or is this your new profession?”
“I'll take that, thank you,” I muttered, reaching for the underwear.
He pulled it a little further away to tease me closer.
I sighed. Apparently, the only thing that'd changed since our school days was his hair.
