8. Evan #3
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
I strode over to him.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Evan.” Bridgette turned on her phony smile. “Your companion—”
“Boyfriend,” I corrected. “Put them back.”
“But—”
“Put. Them. Back.”
She stilled for a beat, then nodded tightly and hung the hangers back on the rack.
“Leave us,” I clipped.
“Come along.” She motioned for Elizabeth to follow her. “We’ll give them a moment.”
“Nick?” I tipped his face up by the chin, forcing him to look at me. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” His lip trembled. “I just got excited and forgot where I was.”
“What do you mean?”
“I picked some stuff I shouldn’t have.” He tried to look away, but I held his chin in place.
“What do you mean?”
His eyes brightened with unshed tears.
“Nicky?” I said.
He gave me a wobbly smile. “You…called me Nicky.”
“Is that okay?” I asked softly.
“Yeah.” He half smiled, the liquid gathering on his lashes. “I like it.”
“Will you tell me what happened?”
“I just did. I picked some stuff I shouldn’t have.”
“Show me what you picked.”
“I… I don’t think I should.”
“Please.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
On the rack of clothes Nick had chosen, a pleated black skirt caught my attention, as did a white bodysuit with artistic cutouts, and a sheer black slip dress.
“Do you enjoy wearing clothes that are traditionally for women?” I asked when he didn’t make a move toward the rack.
“Sometimes.” He wrung his hands in front of him.
“I mean, I know what’s appropriate and when to not wear certain things, but my parents are hippies.
They don’t believe in gendered clothes or toys and taught us that stereotypes are stupid and gender is a social construct.
I forget that just because I think skirts are comfy or bodysuits make me look like a snack, that doesn’t mean other people will be okay with it. ”
“Nicky, look at me.”
He peered up at me through his lashes.
“Did you pick these clothes because you liked them?”
He nodded.
“Will you feel good about yourself when you wear them?”
He nodded again.
“Then that’s all you need to think about.” I leaned in to take a soft sip from his lips. When I pulled back, the surprise had soaked in, and his smile became so luminous it warmed me from the inside. “Are you ready to try them on?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He looked between the entrance to the dressing room and the chair I’d been sitting in as Vlado and I waited. “Do you want to see any of them?” Nick asked me. “The outfits?”
“I’d love to see whatever you want to show me.”
“Want me to scram, or can I stay for the show too?” Vlado asked from where he was sprawled in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand, and a platter of finger sandwiches on his lap.
“You can stay.” Nick scurried over and plucked a sandwich off the platter. “You’re not going to be weird if you see me rocking a skirt, right?”
“Fuck no. I’m all about freeballing. A skirt or dress would be awesome for that.”
“Why do they call these finger sandwiches?” Nick wiggled the little square of food in his hand.
“When I was little, I thought they had real fingers in them and I thought people who ate them were cannibals. Same with ladyfingers, you know, the cookies? I still can’t eat them because all I can think about when I see them is crunching down on a chocolate-covered finger.
At least these little sammies don’t look like fingers. ”
“I think they call them that because you eat them with your hands?” Vlado cut me a bewildered, sidelong glance.
“But you eat all sandwiches with your hands. That’s the whole point of a sandwich. I should text Gray so he can ask Eli. He’d know.”
“Who? And also, what?” I tried to follow the shift in conversation.
“My other bestie, Gray. His little brother is a genius. Not like ‘oh, he’s a genius’ but like ‘he’s a genius .’” He shoved the sandwich in his mouth and grabbed another. “I bet he also does math for fun.”
“Are you calling me a genius, or a nerd?” I asked slowly, still not completely caught up with the conversation.
“Depends. Are you a genius?”
“No?”
“Then I guess it’s door number two.” He popped the sandwich piece in his mouth.
“Why does rich-people food always taste like sadness and air?” he asked as he chewed.
“Is that how they stay rich? By not buying seasoning? Or is flavor the new rich-person gluten and everyone is fashionably avoiding it?”
Vlado shoved several of the sandwich squares in his mouth and chewed around a grin. “You get used to the blandness. At least the coffee is good.”
Nick swiped the cup out of Vlado’s hand and took a sip.
“Yeah, I’ll stick with the bubbly.” He handed it back.
“Just because something is expensive, doesn’t mean it’s good.
The dark brew at my work has a better flavor profile, and it’s less acidic.
This is boring coffee for boring people with too much money.
Proves you can put lipstick on a pig but that doesn’t make it a beauty queen. ”
Vlado coughed around the sandwich he’d been swallowing, and I let out a bark of laughter.
Listening to Nick talk was a wild ride, but his inability to keep to a topic and all his rambling tangents only made him more fun. Usually I hated when people wasted my time with drivel and useless chatter, but Nick was different. Refreshing and so full of life.
“Are we ready to start trying on?”
We spun toward Elizabeth, who had a tape measure around her neck and a box of pins in her hand.
Nick nodded vigorously.
I settled in my chair as Nick and Elizabeth dragged the humongous rack of clothes into the dressing room.
“Remember the bill when you let Emily loose in that shop in Milan for her sweet sixteen?”
“I remember.” I smiled at the memory of my sister rushing around the store, excitedly choosing things to try on, much like Nick. “I have a feeling he’s going to blow her total out of the water.”
“He’s good for you. I haven’t seen this side of you in years.” Vlado slurped down the rest of his coffee, his head tilted back as he just drained the cup as if my heart weren’t slamming a hole against my chest from what he’d said.
“Ready to be amazed?” Nick called from the dressing room, saving me from having to answer.
“Bring it!” Vlado shouted back.
Still reeling a bit from Vlado’s declaration, I jerked my attention over to where Nick was stepping out in a textured navy-blue suit and a vibrantly patterned shirt.
“I figured we’d save the best for last.” Nick strutted over to the raised platform and trifold mirror, working the floor like a supermodel on a runway. “Get the event clothes out of the way so you can approve them. Thoughts on this one?”
“I like it.” That felt woefully inadequate, but Nick didn’t seem to mind.
Elizabeth moved around him, pinning various parts of the garments, as Nick babbled about all the things he loved about it.
I barely heard a word he said, I was too focused on how happy he was and the joy that radiated off him as he checked himself out in the mirror.
The next hour was filled with Nick modeling outfits he’d chosen for events. He had an incredible eye for detail and managed to create classic looks with little surprise elements that made each ensemble as unique as him.
Fashion had never been one of my interests. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone shopping for myself, but sharing this experience with Nick and seeing him enjoy one of his passions was the most fun I’d had in weeks.
He’s good for you.
“That’s all the…traditional stuff,” Nick said as I tucked away my grin. His cheeks were ruddy as he stood in front of the open dressing-room door in a silk robe.
I looked up at Elizabeth. “Can you take what we have so far and add it to my bill?”
She nodded. “I’ll get you a delivery estimate too. It shouldn’t take more than a few days to get everything altered, but I’ll have to check with our team before I can give you a firm date.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure you want to see the rest?” Nick asked when Elizabeth was out of earshot. “I’ve already spent a shit ton of your money. We can stop now.”
I crooked my finger at him.
He scurried over, the silk robe fluttering around his defined thighs.
“I told you to get whatever you want and to not think about the cost.”
“Yeah, but even without price tags, I can ballpark how much all that will cost, and I’m pretty sure it’s about the same as the GDP of a small country—”
I tugged him down on my lap. He wrapped his arms around my neck. “You haven’t spent nearly as much as you seem to think you have. I can afford it, and more than that, I want to buy these things for you.”
“Why?” he asked. “I get the suits and stuff I can wear to events, but why do you want to buy me things I don’t need for our arrangement?”
“Because I enjoy spoiling people I like. Seeing you happy makes me happy. And the selfish bastard in me likes knowing you’ll be wearing clothes I gave you.”
He smiled, the last of his unease fading, it seemed.
“Now, will you show me the rest of your choices?”
With a quick nod, he slid off my lap.
Vlado peered at me knowingly as Nick hurried into the dressing room. I ignored it.
“Are you sure about this?” Nick shouted a moment later.
“Get your butt out here and show us,” Vlado yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth for emphasis.
“Okay.” The door swung open and Nick took a tentative step out.
“Holy shit.”
I would have echoed Vlado’s sentiment, but I was so taken aback I couldn’t form words.
He stood in a pair of loose, flowing silk slacks and a skintight, one-shouldered bodysuit with several cutouts along the sides and a deep neckline.
A belt consisting of a string of rainbow gems sat low on his hips, a few inches below the waistband of the slacks, and a matching rainbow choker necklace encircled his slender throat.
The finishing touch was a pair of ankle boots with a chunky heel.
“Do you like it?” he asked tentatively.
I gulped a swallow. “You look beautiful.”