Chapter 7 #2
Oz and Lemon are still in the damn window. I can see them from the corner of my eye, but I ignore them as I turn from Hadrian to jot down his mid-waist measurement. He’s quiet, but it’s fine because we’re friends, and it’s never awkward between us.
Until I get to his inseam.
“Spread your legs,” I command in a deep voice, wiggling my eyebrows at him.
He snickers and steps his feet out to hip-width. “I’m at your command, milady.”
Dropping to one knee, I look up with a serious expression. “For real though, don’t move, or I’ll accidentally touch your junk, and it’ll get awkward real fast.”
His nostrils flare, horns flexing nearly straight as he looks over me to the mirror.
I work quickly, bringing the tape to the top of his current inseam.
It’s hard not to notice his package when it’s right fucking there in front of my face.
Not that I haven’t looked a time or twelve, but is it… .is it growing?
Oh shit.
Moving quickly, I measure all the way to his heel and then the other leg inside and out. I go to his back and measure over his fantastic bubble butt to his heel.
“All done?” His tone is clipped, tight.
“Yep!” I force brightness into my voice until horror hits me. “Oh damnit, I didn’t write any of those down, I was so focused on going fast.”
He barks out a laugh and crosses his arms. “Bluebell Delia Tucker, did you do that on purpose?”
I lift a finger. “First of all, don’t ever say my middle name aloud again. If Oz or Lemon learn it, they’ll just call me that, and it’s game over, man, game over.” I shoot him a warning glare. “And secondly, no, it was an unfortunate accident.”
“Just get it done,” he says, still chuckling as he shuffles his wings, rubbing the sharp tips together.
I work as fast as I can, but this time when I drop to my heels in front of him, there’s an unmistakable bulge, thick and hard down the front of his thigh.
And it’s growing. Gods, it would happen to any male, I’m sure, having a woman on their knees in front of them.
But I can’t make it weird, so I say absolutely nothing, studiously avoiding the horrifyingly enormous erection right at eye level.
The problem is it’s mouth-wateringly beautiful, too. If I really, really stared, I bet I could see every vein because these pants don’t fucking fit him.
“Done for real,” I manage, smiling up at him.
He steps off the platform with a soft smile. “Cool. Just let me know when to pay or when they get here. And also, you working late? We have a couple days off before the next home game. Jasper’s supposed to come for a movie tonight, but you should join us.”
“I’d love to, but I’m on at Whiskey Business. Closing,” I tack on. “I’ll try not to stomp down the hallway when I get home.”
“No worries.” He grabs a chunk of my hair and tugs on it, something he’s done since we were kids. “See ya later, Tucker.”
“Bye.” I watch as he strides across the floor and opens the door, sailing out with all that gargoyle grace and elegance.
No sooner has he disappeared across the street than Lemon and Oz swan back in looking pleased as punch. Oz carries two cones of chocolate ice cream from BrewHaHa Beans, and he hands me one as he takes a big lick of the other.
“Spill, bitch.”
“Spill what?” I ask innocently as I take the offered cone and lap gratefully at it.
Lemon smiles, but that smile is full of all her vampire deviance. “Bluebelllllll, don’t act like you don’t know what we’re talking about. There’s a vibe between you and Hadrian. I saw it at the rodeo a couple weeks ago, and I’m seeing it again now.”
I nip my finger hard as I look between them. Lemon’s smiling softly, but Oz’s mouth is dropped open, eyes wide as he waits for me to talk.
Reaching out with a wing, he slaps the back of my head. “Spill, bitch. Do I have to say it three times?!”
At his feet, Ginger the pit hell looks up at me with those sweet golden-brown eyes.
The whole story about Santa Alaya spills out of me then. How they lost my reservation, so I stayed with him, slept in his bed and wore his sweatshirt.
“It’s not a thing,” I finish, biting the top off the ice cream cone. I groan at how it freezes my front teeth. “I just mean we’ve been friends for literal decades, and that’s more important than anything else. Plus, can you imagine what Jasper would do?”
“Who cares?” Oz asks with a dramatic hand flourish. “You could be banging Hadrian Alkazar tonight, Pine Gulch hottie and all-around hunk.”
“Someone’s been reading the Gulch Gossip,” I mutter, thinking about how they covered Alk’s non-dating dating life in a recent column. Or ten.
“I don’t know,” Lemon says with a shrug. “This place has a way of making people fall in love, doesn’t it?”
“Facts,” Oz says, pointing at her. “We kept you, and we thought you were a killer!”
We all laugh at that. Lemon couldn’t hurt a fly, I swear.
But I think about her comment all the way until closing time.
I’m not falling in love, right? But I might be in a little teensy bit of lust. Love is catching, my mama always says.
I have someone perfect in front of me, but I absolutely cannot have him—not without ripping apart at least one friendship. At this point, I’ll take a solid partnership with my store or a personal assistant to do some of my to do list.
Except that’s a lie I’m telling myself to avoid the uncomfortable truth—I most definitely want Hadrian Alkazar.