I fight to maintain composure, but his proximity is almost unbearable. I can feel his breath on my face, and my knees melt. “It’ll look good on you.” He’s too close, and yet not close enough. “Trust me.”
“That’s wishful thinking,” he clips, but instead of telling me to leave, he shrugs off the cream shirt, tossing it aside, unfazed by my presence.
My eyes can’t help but shamelessly rove the broad expanse of his chest while he’s distracted by the yellow shirt. I should leave, give him privacy, but I’m rooted to the spot, and my thoughts drift to what it would feel like to run my fingers over his toned trapezoid muscles.
“You got somewhere to be?” he asks, a hint of amusement lacing his tone.
I snap from my daydream as he flings the shirt on, covering my new favorite view.
He studies himself in the mirror, ironing the fabric with big hands. “You’re right. It looks good.” Our eyes clash in the mirror. “So? Are you in a hurry?”
“Not really. I need to buy a dress, but that won’t take long.”
“You’re looking for a dress in a suit shop?” A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth like he thinks I purposely followed him.
“No, I came in to buy a tie for my father.”
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t share his thoughts. “You don’t usually shop alone. Where are your friends?”
“They’re busy.” I step closer, reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt, my fingers brushing his warm skin. “What do you think?” I ask, undoing one button and smoothing out any creases, my hand pressing the fabric against his chest. “I think it suits you. You could wear it for the rehearsal dinner.”
He considers my words for a moment before speaking. “I’ll make you a deal. Since you know what will look good on me, you’ll help me with everything I need for the wedding weekend, and in return, I’ll judge which dresses you look good in.”
My jaw almost hits the floor. He wants me to help? He’s willing to spend time with me? It’s a small step toward forgiveness, but it feels like a massive victory.
“Do you know what color dress your date’s wearing?” I ask.
Cody’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, a jolt of electricity idling between us. The small space suddenly feels too intimate, and I step back, walking into the gray fabric.
“No idea. I’ve not asked anyone yet. Why?”
“I thought you’d like your tie to match her dress.”
“So I’ll buy a tie when I find a date, and she chooses her dress. I need a white shirt for the wedding, any tie will do.” He undoes the small buttons, and I can’t help but watch as the fabric unfolds, revealing his bare chest.
“Okay. Wait here,” I mumble, successfully tearing my eyes from his muscles writhing as he moves, the wetness between my legs growing increasingly uncomfortable.
Stumbling back, I leave, and five minutes later, I’m back with more shirts, suits, and slacks. I watch Cody try on the different clothes, admiring how perfectly they fit him.
“What do you need a dress for?” he asks, watching me in the mirror as he shrugs on the third shirt.
“My father’s work do. He throws elegant banquets whenever he needs to butter someone up.”
“So you need something elegant,” he muses. “I know just the place. It’s in Huntington Beach, so we’ll take my car.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need help. I’ve got strict instructions on what to buy.”
Damn it. Why is talking to him so effortless? My filter goes out the window, everything I usually hide now exposed.
“Your date decides what you’ll wear?” he asks, his fingers fumbling with the shirt’s buttons.
I step in to help. “My date?”
“I assume you’re going with someone since you said you’ve got instructions on what to wear.”
“Oh... no date. I’m on my father’s arm.”
His eyebrows bunch together for a second. “Why? Where’s your mother?”
