Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Silas
The customer walks out having purchased a dress from the new items we just ordered. She seems enthusiastic about the design, claiming she’s going to come back with her best friend. I hope she does.
But maybe later.
After I have more private time with Betsy.
Jesus, Lord on high. That was ridiculously hot.
I’ve never been into fucking as Betsy puts it.
I’m a wine-and-dine-and-kiss-on-the-first-date kind of guy.
I do enjoy making love to a woman I’ve gotten to know, love, and trust, but those qualifications mean my body count is fairly low.
When Betsy first suggested our little arrangement, I was a trifle offended.
But then she made a valid point about neither one of us wanting a relationship and she looked so damn cute doing it, I caved.
And I’m really glad I did.
Another customer comes in, the bell ringing out and pulling me from my thoughts.
This time, I don’t know the woman, which makes sense when she tells me she’s here for orientation at the college with her freshman daughter.
The lack of a Southern accent should have tipped me off.
She picks out several items that are perfect for Angel game days.
“Hey, Betsy!” I call out. The curtain between the boutique and the storage room shifts and Betsy appears.
“Can you help with the fitting room real quickie—I mean, quickly?” I keep my friendly smile in place, always the professional.
The tips of Betsy’s ears go red again, but her hair and clothing are put back together, more’s the pity. Almost as if I’d never been there. Then she takes a few steps forward and I can see she’s walking differently.
I can’t help the smug grin that takes over my face. Betsy sees it and rolls her eyes behind the back of the customer. She gets her situated in a fitting room and lets her know she can find her other sizes if need be. Then Betsy swirls around and glares at me.
I have to swallow the laugh. God, she’s hilarious when she’s embarrassed.
Reminds me of the day I met her when she dove headfirst into a rack right here in this boutique.
Ten minutes later, the customer has an armload full of clothes as she approaches the register with Betsy in tow.
We work side by side to scan the items, get them wrapped in tissue paper, and put into gift bags.
“I know I shouldn’t be buying all this, but the items are just so cute!” the customer gushes. “Plus, with my Cosi going to MidSouth, I have to load up on purple and gold, right?”
I shrug, letting my accent deepen. It’s good for sales for those from out of state. “Have to represent when you go to a game. And you have to go to the games. Best Saturday activity in all three surrounding counties!”
The woman smiles, reaching across to place her hand on my arm. “You make a woman feel better about spending money on herself.”
I flick a glance at Betsy, who’s now shooting daggers out her eyes at the location of the woman’s hand. “When your back’s against the wall, you just swipe that credit card, am I right?”
Betsy chokes. The customer is distracted from my little inside joke as I hand her both large shopping bags and slip a postcard in one.
“We’re having the Battle of the Boutiques next weekend. You should come back. Golden Halo will have clothes for your daughter.”
“Is that the cute shop across the square?”
“It is. My sister owns it, so I know she’ll take good care of Cosi.”
The woman leaves, looking like she’s headed to Golden Halo right now. I turn to Betsy to find her glaring at me with her hands on her hips.
“Did you just flirt with that woman to get sales?”
I shake my head. “No. I was actually flirting with you.”
If Betsy’s ears get any redder, they might start bleeding.
She rolls her eyes and stomps back into the storage room to hang up clothes.
My laugh follows her. We spend the rest of the day dancing around each other, me teasing her, Betsy flipping me off.
As the last customer of the day heads out with her purchases, I flip the sign to closed and grin at the curtain separating me from Betsy.
“Hey, storm cloud!” I holler.
“What?” she hollers back.
I walk across the shop and flip back the curtain. Betsy’s sweeping the floor, which as her boss, I appreciate. But I have better things those hands could be doing. I pull the broom from her hands and lean it against the wall.
“Let’s go grab dinner.”
Betsy wrinkles her nose immediately. “No.”
Inside my head, I sigh. “Come on. It’s been a long day. I won’t even pay for your food.”
She spins on her heel and marches away from me. I follow. She goes around the counter and finds her purse under the computer. “Silas. No. We’re not dating.”
“I know! But we both have to eat to sustain life, so why not do it at the same time? At the same table.”
Betsy drills a finger in my chest. “No.”
I sigh for real this time. “Fine. Guess I’ll eat alone.”
Betsy saunters to the door of the boutique, ready to leave me in the dust. “Go find a customer to flirt with.”
And with that, she’s gone. I should be upset she turned me down, but instead, I’m smiling.
Sure seems like she’s jealous of that one customer today.
Betsy may act all aloof, but she didn’t like it when the woman touched me.
And that right there is proof enough of the way Betsy feels deep, deep, deep down in her heart to make this shiny happy day even shinier.
I’m whistling as I grab my stuff, turn off the lights, and lock up the boutique. I walk along the sidewalk outside the shops in the shade from the overhang, making a right turn on the Square to go by Saint’s Suits. Deuce is also locking up his shop at this hour.
“Hey,” I call out.
Deuce turns in my direction, his serious, customer-facing expression turning downright goofy when he sees me.
He’s dressed down today, wearing slacks, leather loafers, a button-down shirt, and a vest. Is that a pocket watch on a gold chain?
Jeez. I feel horribly underdressed in my wrinkled polo and khaki shorts, but nothing can dampen my good mood today.
Those wrinkles are from Betsy’s fists when I kissed her this morning.
“What’s got you smiling like the Second Coming of Jesus today?” he drawls once he’s standing right in front of me.
“Jesus isn’t the one coming,” I mutter under my breath.
Deuce leans in, eyes widening. “I’m sorry, did you just make a sexual joke?”
He says the word in a whisper, like he knows it’ll embarrass the crap out of me to be talking about this right here on Saint’s Row. I’m a Southern gentleman through and through, the way my mama raised me. I sometimes think Deuce was raised by wolves. Well-dressed wolves, but wolves none the less.
I grab his arm and steer him toward Lil’ Slice of Heaven, just two doors down from his boutique. They have ice-cold beer on tap and televisions lining every wall. Surely there’s some sports on tonight we can watch while we stuff our faces.
“I need beer,” I say, earning myself a cheer from Deuce.
“Excellent. I’ll ply you with alcohol so I get the whole story of whatever’s going on with your face right now.”
We find a spot at a high-top table facing a wall of screens showing a soccer game in another country.
The server takes our beer order and scrambles off.
Deuce doesn’t waste a second. He spins his stool in my direction and proceeds to disrobe while pinning me with an intense stare. It’s a little disturbing, to be honest.
“Could you undress elsewhere?” I mutter.
Deuce makes a face like I’ve said the most vile thing he’s ever heard. And continues to roll up his sleeves, take off his vest, and unbutton his shirt from around his neck.
“Spill. Did you get lucky or something?” He finally rests his forearms on the table. Thankfully his pants are still on.
I don’t answer. I don’t have to, apparently. My face says it all. Deuce gapes at me, then leans in even closer. “Oh shit, you did?” He reaches over and pinches his arm. He winces. “Nope, not dreaming.”
“Shut up,” I say under my breath as the server delivers overflowing frosty beer mugs.
When he’s gone again, I take a long swig.
Maybe finding Deuce to have dinner with was a bad idea.
I’m not a kiss-and-tell kind of guy. I’m also not a bang-your-employee-in-the-back-room kind of guy either.
I’m not really sure of the protocol here. I’m in uncharted territory.
“So who’s the lucky girl?” Deuce bounces his eyebrows up and down, his voice entirely too loud.
I shush him. “Keep your voice down, dummy. The gossip grapevine is alive and well in Heaven.”
He waves his hand, like hurry up and spill the goods.
I lean in even closer, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s Betsy.”
Deuce flops back in his stool, his sharp inhale a long and overexaggerated gasp. I shake my head at his antics.
“Oh. My. God.” He leans back in like Birdie Buckley about to hear a tasty morsel of gossip that’ll have her and her friends in a tizzy for days on end. “Tell me everything.”
I take another swig of beer, noticing his irritation. This is fun. I take another sip of beer. Then I peruse the menu that I already know by heart. Deuce, quick as a snake, jabs his elbow into my gut.
“Spill!”
I sigh. “No, I don’t think I will. I will just say, it’s not a relationship, so don’t be spreading any rumors of that kind.”
Deuce moves his beer out of the way so he can face me head-on.
“Wait. Silas Winthrop is having a fling?” When I don’t answer, he hoots.
“This is great! I’ve been telling you for years to give it a try.
At our age, what’s the harm in keeping things casual?
We’ve given up on marriage, but we don’t have to give up on sex. ”
I frown. “I haven’t given up on marriage. I still think there’s a woman out there who’s right for me.”
Deuce takes a healthy swig of beer. “And you think it’s Betsy?”
I tilt my head, considering it. “Well, no, not necessarily. But I do like her.” Betsy looks nothing like the debutantes I’ve dated seriously in the past. None of which worked out, so maybe it’s time to expand my horizons.
Deuce shakes his head, a grin on his face. “Honestly, I would have thought she’d be the type to kill you afterward, like a praying mantis eating its mate after sex.”
I snort a laugh at the mental image. “She plays tough but she’s actually…”
“She’s what?”
For some reason I can’t find the right words to describe Betsy.
Maybe because I’m still trying to figure her out myself, but mostly because she’s a lot of things all rolled into one beautifully complex woman.
I don’t want to spill her secrets. She’s entrusted me with glimpses of the woman behind the all-black clothing and piercings that set off metal detectors, and I want to protect her privacy.
So I settle for some vanilla description just to get Deuce off my back. “She’s great. Lots of fun.”
“So, are you dating now? Shouldn’t you be scheduling a delivery of flowers to her nana’s house?”
I know why he thinks that. That would naturally be my next course of action. Woo the woman, get in good with her family, treat her in a way that would make my mama proud of me. But it’s not what Betsy wants.
“Nope. I told you. We’re not dating. Just…mutual fooling around. We’re…coworkers with benefits.”
Deuce stares at me for awhile before he accepts my answer and turns to his beer again. “Okay, if you say so.”
The server comes over and we place our pizza order and another round of beers. When he leaves, I let out one last detail before shutting down the topic of Betsy.
“I may have already put a rose on her windshield when I slipped out for lunch today.”
Deuce snorts. “I knew your Southern-gentleman training would somehow slip through.”
I hold my hand up. “But I won’t do it again. I plan to follow our arrangement of no strings attached. It’s what Betsy wants and I’m looking forward to trying it out.”
Deuce holds up his beer glass to mine and we clink them together. “I’m happy for you, bro. Welcome to the life of being a playboy. I’ll show you the ropes.”