"Jaxson, what the hell are you doing?"
I heaved a sigh and turned around. My mom wavered down the lawn. "I'm moving wood, Mom. What does it look like?"
"Looks like you're fucking around to me," she snarled.
Lovely. She was half in the bag and it wasn't even noon yet. "Yeah, I'm fucking around, Mom. Whatever you say."
She nodded briskly as I confirmed her suspicions. "Instead of standing there with your thumb up your ass, I need you to do something for me."
I wiped my face with my t-shirt. It was fucking hot today and I was too tired for her shit. "Yeah, Mom, whaddya need?" The guys were already hammering the pergola into place with the efficiency of years on the road together. I looked at them wistfully.
"I need you to pick up Aunt Fiona's dress from the shop and run it to Salvatore."
I stared at her. She couldn't be making less sense than if she had suddenly started speaking Russian. "Seriously, Annie? You have like, four personal assistants. Why exactly do you need me to pick up Fifi's dress?"
Then I noticed it. The wild look in my mother's eyes, the one that would frighten a lesser man. No wonder Nails had busied himself with the altarpiece. His big, burly, bearded bravado was no match for my mother in Bridezilla mode.
"Because, I am asking my son, who loves me and is grateful for all I have given him, to help me out," she slurred.
I wiped my face again. "Christ, Mom, lay it on a little thicker," I sighed. There was no getting out of this. "I'll get the stupid dress. Just let me shower first."
She turned with a satisfied smirk, secure in the knowledge that once again she had gotten her way. And now, it seemed I was off to a dress shop. How perfect.
*****
If I didn't recognize the place right off the bat, they sure recognized me. "Can I help you find something, Mr. Blue?" The tall, willowy blonde behind the counter was straight-up batting her lashes. "Something for your… girlfriend, perhaps?"
"I don't have a girlfriend," I snapped, too hastily. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the image of Bit that had wedged itself in the forefront of my mind's eye.
The ice queen's lips curled seductively, and for a second I could see the wolfish hunger in her eyes before she snapped back into flirtation. "That's a good thing," she cooed, licking her cherry-red lips.
I cut her off right there. "I'm here to pick up an order."
Then I mentally smacked my head. A shop girl… obviously a fan… This would have been the easiest lay ever.
But I didn't give a shit about her, or her flirting. I was just irritated that she'd even try.
Her manicured brows knitted together. "What's the name?" she asked, all the warmth drained out of her voice.
I wondered if she was one of the gossipy types who sold blind items to the tabloids. Then I realized I really, truly, did not care. "My mom's," I told her, checking my phone.
"Right away." Ice Queen snapped smartly around and headed to the back room. Was she actually wiggling her ass at me? Why was that hilarious?
I turned and ran my hand idly along the racks. The store was softly lit with warm, recessed lighting. The light oak fixtures set off the scattered furniture that looked like it belonged in a thrift store, but I was sure actually sold for thousands of dollars.
In other words, this place was a chick's dream.
My restless wandering led me toward the back of the store. For the first time since last week, my mind was a pleasant blank. The extremely physical work of hauling lumber had left me feeling floaty and contented. No roiling confusion, no intense sexual frustration. I felt a small measure of peace.
Peace that shattered the second a dressing room door swung open and Bit stepped out.
She froze, hands clutched around a dress that was way too big for her tiny frame. My mouth went dry. She looked… fucking edible, barefoot, her hair in a tangled disarray. I drank her in like a tumbler of the smoothest Scotch, from her painted toes all the way up to her dark, furious face.
Oh. Shit.
"Are you following me now?" she snapped, hefting that ridiculous dress up higher on chest.
"Really?" I didn't mean to laugh, but really now. "Christ, get over yourself."
"Well, why the hell would you be here?" She was talking way too damn loud.
"I'm here the same reason you are—getting a dress." And then, because I was addicted to pissing her off, it seemed, I grabbed a red slinky thing from the rack and held it up to my chest. "What, don't you think this is my color?"
Did her mouth quirk? It did, but she would never admit I had made her smile. "You don't know anything about dress shopping," she protested.
"I know enough to know that dress is hideous on you."
"What?!" God she was being so loud. If Ice Queen hadn't called the tabloids before, she was sure as hell dialing them now. Bit looked like she was going to either kill me or explode in the attempt.
"Shut up, will you?" I snapped, pushing her back into the dressing room and shutting the door behind us. "You're making a goddamn scene."
She stood there, huffing, yanking on that dress like it was a life preserver. The room itself was bigger than I had expected, with a Victorian chair in the corner that was covered in mounds of discarded dresses. The three-way mirror reflected Bit's furious face, downcast eyes, and my own bewildered expression. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I hissed.
She snapped up at me. "Why are you so mean?"
There were tears in her eyes, and my fists clenched to see her hurt, even though it was me that was causing the hurting. "Goddamn it, Bit," I shouted. "We need to sort this shit."
"Here?"
"Yes. Here." I stood against the door to block her path. She tried to duck under my arm, but I caught her up and held her as lightly as I could. Her silent struggle subsided after a moment. "Thank you," I whispered, acutely aware of the precarious way that dress was pooling around her. All I'd need to do would be to push the shoulder another inch to the left…
"You're such an asshole," she whined.
"Why do I get the feeling that you're talking about last year?" I breathed against her neck.
"It doesn't matter."
"Yeah. It does." I slid my hands to her waist and cinched in the fabric that gathered there. "Take this ridiculous thing off. It looks like a bedsheet on you."
She opened her eyes and some of that fire I loved so damn much snapped back to life. "Well, do you have any suggestions, Jaxson Dior?"
I looked around the room. "That one." I pointed to a lacy baby blue one. It was simple, almost casual, the only adornment besides the delicate lace was a simple ribbon crisscrossing its way up the back. Nothing showy. Nothing to overpower her incredible, natural beauty.
"Close your eyes."
"Hell no."
"Then at least look away?"
"Oh, you want me to pretend I haven't seen all this already?"
"Yes," she hissed fiercely.
I turned my back. "Never say I'm not a complete gentleman."
"You're not a complete gentleman," she whispered. I could hear the rasp of fabric against her skin, and it took all of my strength not to turn and catch her in the act. The image of the watery silk running down her naked back made it hard to focus on our argument. "There, is this better?"
I turned back to her and my jaw dropped. "Fuck yeah, it is."