16. 16
Idon’t know what to think about Cady.
I know exactly what I’m thinking about Cady, but not anything that’s going on in her head.
Once in a while she gives me this look and I think I might have a chance, but then she closes up, the refrigerator door closing, locking me out of all the yummy things inside.
I doubt she’d like to be referred to as such, so I should keep my mouth shut about that.
After our snack, we wander the mall.
I wander—Cady keeps half her attention on her phone and the other saying no to things like bathing suits, smelling candles, and the bookstore.
“I have a book,” she says.
“You need more than one book.”
“Not if you don’t have time to read.”
Eventually, I have to practically push her into a store because I can totally picture her in the dress set up in the window.
I tell her I like the colours, not that picturing her in the dress will stick in my head.
Inside, Cady checks her phone again while I grab the manager.
“She needs a dress,” I tell the woman. “Something that looks as good as she does.”
Hunched over her phone and frowning, Cady doesn’t look all that good at that moment. “Cady. Smile,” I instruct when she looks up.
“Why?”
I shake my head. “She’s a busy woman,” I explain to the manager. “Plus, I dragged her here against her will.”
“I don’t do anything against my will,” Cady says to her phone. And then she looks up at me and smiles.
There’s the sun breaking over the horizon. Cady looks lighter, brighter and more beautiful when she smiles.
And it makes me smile.
I should not be so fascinated by this woman in this short of time. But then again, meeting Cady isn’t the usual way I meet a woman.
“I don’t wear pink,” Cady says, dropping her phone in her bag.
“Maybe a pale—”
“I don’t wear pink.”
“No pink,” I tell the saleswoman, who joins us with a smile.
Twenty-five minutes later, Cady is bundled into the changing room with an armful of dresses, and more waiting for her. “Are you trying to make this like the shopping montage in Pretty Woman?” she asks with a last look over her shoulder before she disappears into the changing cubicle.
It has a curtain, so I’m going to have to be a good boy and try not to peek like Cady did.
I can’t believe she was spying on me.
“Isn’t the shopping stuff the best part of the movie?” I ask. “I love it when she goes back to the store and tells them off at the end.”
“I thought you’d prefer the piano scene. Most men like that one.”
I really want to ask if Cady has done it on a piano.
I know her history, but it’s hard to connect the stripper persona with the successful businesswoman Cady has become. The more I get to know her, the less it seems likely that I ever saw her perform because I can’t wrap my head around the fact it would have been Cady on that stage.
Same with her being an escort. And the fact men paid her to have sex with them.
I don’t judge her for it—I have no idea what her life was like to lead her down that path—and I have more respect for her knowing where she came from.
“Have you ever done it in a changing room?”
Cady is about to pull the curtain closed but stops. “Are you serious?”
“Well, yes, but no,” I say sheepishly. I have no idea why I asked her that. Just thinking about Cady and all the experience she must have… “Sorry, that was inappropriate. I told you that you have no need to worry about me moving in ways you’re not comfortable with. I need a date. Anything else is off the table.”
Cady holds my gaze for a long minute, and I’m unable to stop the twinge of disappointment. It’s more than a twinge. It’s a stab. It’s— “Thank you,” she says.
The way she yanks the curtains closed is a clear indication that she doesn’t want things to be on the table.
The jangle of the hangers sound, and the whisper of her jacket being removed. I can’t even look at the curtain without picturing what Cady looks like without clothing.
How can any man not think about that?
She would wear matching lingerie, I decide. Good-quality stuff; silk or satin with lace edging the cups. It would be practical, but nice.
My pulse quickens even just thinking about it. “Cady?”
“Max.”
I seriously need to stop talking. “I should say that anything is off the table unless you want differently.”
She never denied that she was interested…
The click of the curtain rings is so quiet that I almost miss it. But when I look up, there’s a two-inch space between the curtains.
And between the two-inch gap is Cady.
I lose my breath in an audible whoosh.
Because I was right about the bra.
“Thanks for letting me know,” she says.