She put her hand on Beckett’s forearm. The move was meant to grab both of their attention and managed to at least secure Beckett’s. When she glanced his way, she found him looking at her like one of the lost puppies in Quin’s kennels. He had no idea what he was in for today.
“I’m doing a fashion makeover on this guy. We’re just starting our day but have several stores to stop in, so we’d like to make this quick. Can you direct us to loose jeans, preferably boot cut?” Beckett wasn’t a slim pant guy. His shoulders were too wide and if he wore slim jeans, he’d look like a tall triangle—or a popsicle.
The tension seeped off Beckett. Daisy held back from laughing at his obvious relief. He probably thought she’d dress him up like a ringmaster.
“Why don’t you and your sister follow me.” Little Miss Retail glanced over her shoulder at Beckett with a set of bedroom eyes.
Daisy’s mouth dropped open. “We’re not related,” she set the woman straight. Though why it mattered what she thought, Daisy didn’t know.
“Oh?” She batted her hands around. “I’m sorry. You two have a very familiar—sibling thing going on.”
Daisy didn’t like the tone she used when she saidsibling, as if it were a cut to her somehow.
Beckett’s arm dropped across Daisy’s shoulder. He smelled good, like the new tea-tree shampoo she’d bought and soap and something that was just him that made her head swirl. “You were close, though. We grew up together.”
“Howcute.” The words dripped with sticky sweet honey and hostility.
Anywhere Daisy’s body touched Beckett’s her skin tingled like she’d just been scrubbed with a loofah, which made it hard to come up with a good response to the snarky salesgirl. She wasn’t a snarky girl by nature and her mind went completely blank. She ended up tripping along with Beckett’s arm across her shoulder all the way to the jeans section.
“Here’s our latest,” said retail princess. Her tattooed eyebrows arched. “If you’d like to try something on, just let me know.” She lifted her shoulder and applied those bedroom eyes to all parts of Beckett. The woman’s gaze rivaled a spray-on tan, covering every muscle, valley, dip, and crevice with equal attention.
“My friend should be here any minute. Will you let her know we’re here?” Daisy didn’t understand where the steel edge in her tone had come from. She placed her hand on her neck and lightly cleared her throat.
“Sure.” The saleswoman flipped her hair over her shoulder and left without another glance Daisy’s way.
Daisy stared after her. Mean girls had their place in high school and the comment section of her channel, but they hardly ever appeared in person anymore. Most women were happy to chat with Daisy when she convinced Quinton to shop for something other than scrubs. Of course, she didn’t usually take issue with someone flirting with Quinton. He was her brother; she liked seeing him get out of his daily grind and loosen up around the ladies. She didn’t necessarily have those same feelings for Beckett. Not that he’d flirted back with the duchess. Thank goodness.
There she was, calling people names again. She shouldn’t care who Beckett flirted with—he was a grown man. An oh-so-handsome man. Even with all his facial hair, Beckett was attractive.
The salesgirl wasn’t the only one who noticed. Her comments section was filled with requests for more Beckett. She planned to give viewers exactly what they wanted. Her mom had sent over the scrapbook images just that morning. She could already picture the video montage complete with classic pop hits from 1999. Her subscribers were going to love it.
Beckett reached for the darkest pair of jeans. They were made from denim so thick the fold creases would never wash out. Daisy grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”
He quirked his cheek in a half grin. “I was going to try these on.”
“Why?”
“They looked sturdy.”
“They are. You could build a house on top of them.”
“Good. I might have to build a house while I’m in them.”
She rolled her eyes. “I get that, but for the sake of fashion, will you try these on too?” She lifted out a washed denim in size 33x36. She held the waistband and let the legs fall to the floor. Decorative stitching zigzagged across patches of leather on the pockets and there was twice-thick thread on the seams.
Beckett made a face. “They’re pretty-boy jeans.”
“That’s what we’re going for.”
He searched her face becoming as serious as a skin care routine. “Is that what you want? A pretty boy …” He gulped. “With a desk job?” The intensity in his pale blue eyes pulled the air right out of Daisy’s lungs.
It took a moment for his question to register, and suddenly Daisy thought her brother might know a thing or two about Beckett and his feelings. He looked invested in her answer, which made her palms moist. “I’m not that specific,” she replied. She moved to a rack of distressed shirts and dismissed them quickly.
Beckett followed. “Surely you must have some idea of what you’re looking for in a guy?”
She kept her eyes on the clothes even as the list wrote itself in her head.
Tall.
