“For work,” she mumbles, motioning to the blouse.
I swallow hard, imagining her in my office, the door closed as I slowly undo each of those buttons before dragging my mouth across her smooth, hot skin.
Iris is still looking at me, apparently expecting a reply, and all I can do is choke out the word, “Nice.” She stares at me for a beat longer, chest rising and falling under the soft fabric, then slips back into the fitting room.
Christ, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s just a fucking blouse, yet my body’s responding as if she’s stepped out in lacy lingerie.
She stays in the fitting room for a while longer, giving me time to calm the fuck down, but when she eventually steps out again, I’m not prepared. She’s in a midnight-blue dress with three-quarter sleeves, a belted waist, and a skirt that flares out around her thighs. I have no fucking hope of keeping my gaze away, not when she looks so damn good. I can imagine her in that dress at work, those long legs in her heels, my hand straying up her thigh…
Her gaze meets mine in the mirror, and she blushes again, as if she can read my thoughts. I fucking hope not. I need to get my mind out of the gutter.
I watch as she glances at the price tag on the wrist of the dress, wincing. I think of her tiny apartment, that comment in my car about her salary. Her face falls as she turns back to the fitting room, and before I know what I’m doing, I step forward and catch her elbow with my hand.
“Let me get it,” I say, voice coming out rough.
She blinks up at me in surprise. “What?”
“I want to get it for you.” Shit, what am I saying? “I owe you for the drafting table, Iris.” She opens her mouth to protest, but Isqueeze her elbow. I’d buy her the entire store if she asked. “I’m going to pay you back somehow, so at least consider it.” I drop my hand and step away, giving her a minute.
She stares after me for a beat, then turns back to the mirror, examining her reflection again. The bell trills on the door, a pair of women bustling into the store with loud voices. I stay out of their way, inspecting the jewelry near the counter, wondering if there’s something I could get for Soph. My gaze snags on a tiny silver cupcake on a chain, and I know instantly that Iris would love it. But before I can ask the shop assistant to wrap it up for me, my attention is drawn by one of the women gasping.
“Iris?” she asks, holding a hand to her chest in disbelief. “Iris Prescott, is that you?”
My brows spring up in surprise. The woman speaking has blond hair in a short, sharp bob, joined by a full-figured brunette. The two descend on Iris with too much interest, and it makes me bristle.
“Savannah,” Iris says, eyes wide with shock. “What… what are you doing here?”
“We’re in town for my bachelorette weekend!” The blond grins, thrusting her left hand into Iris’s face to show off her ring. “I keep thinking it looks smaller in photos, but in person, well, it’s kind of hard to ignore.”
“Mm,” Iris murmurs. “Congratulations.”
The blond withdraws her hand, beaming. “Thanks. Yeah. We’rereallyhappy.”
She adjusts her ring, her smile slipping just a fraction before she directs her gaze back to Iris. I frown as I watch Iris fiddle uneasily with the cuff of her dress.
“So, I haven’t seen you since senior graduation!” the blond says. “You look exactly the same.” She bats Iris on the arm with a laugh that rings hollow. “Howareyou? What have you been up to?”
Iris grimaces, gaze flitting to me, and I glance back down at the counter, not wanting to make her uncomfortable by listening.
“Just, um, you know,” she mumbles. “Working.”
“Really?” the blond asks, tilting her head to one side. “Didn’t you go to Columbia for a bit? I can’t remember if you finished.”
I look sharply at the blond, a protective urge flaring in my chest. The words sound innocent enough, but her voice is laced with poison underneath. Like she knows Iris didn’t finish and wants to hear her say it. The brunette laughs awkwardly, her eyes flicking to the sale rack as if to avoid the accusation.
“Uh…” Iris begins, her face scarlet as she glances at me again. The blond follows her gaze to where I’m hovering by the counter, and instinctively, I refocus on the jewelry.
“Oof, he’shot,” the blond whispers, just loud enough for me to hear. “Wait, you know him?” She gives Iris an incredulous look. “Huh. I never would have guessed.”
I stiffen, jaw clenching. I know there’s nothing technically wrong with her words, but everything about them feels off. Fake. It’s the tone. Pretending to care while secretly wanting to sting.
And I’ve had enough.
My fingers flex on the counter as I resist the urge to step in and put these women in their place, but as I steal another glance at Iris, arms folded tightly across her chest and gaze fixed to the floor, I lose the battle.
Instead of letting her stand there alone, I cross to her side, pull her in close, and kiss her.
22
