Try Me On for Size (21 page)

CHAPTER
Twenty-Six

H
ey, Babe.”
Kyle stood and reached out to Mia for a hug. “I called but it went straight to voicemail.”

She let him hug her for two seconds before pulling away. “Oh. Sorry. Were we supposed to meet tonight?”

“
Hoarders
marathon, remember?”

“I’m so sorry. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“No prob. We only missed the first hour.” He reached for her hand but she moved it and stepped back. “Something wrong?”

“I’m tired and I just want this day to end.” Aside from the day of Johnny’s funeral, this had probably been the worst day of Mia’s life.

“What happened?”

“Uh, just some things at the shop. Some lewd photos of one of our models. We’re probably going to lose everything.”

“Oh, yeah. I think I saw those pics today. Fuckin’ sucks.” He moved toward her, wicked grin. “I know how to make it all better. Let’s go up and I’ll give you a massage.”

“Not tonight. I just want to be alone, okay?”

“Then what’s this dude doing here?”

She kind of forgot Oliver was there. “Oh, he drove me home. We were just gonna have a drink. Like I said, it’s been a really bad day.”

“Fine. Whatever. You gonna drive me home first?”

“Are you for real?” Oliver asked, contributing to the awkwardness.

“This is none of your fuckin’ business, so step off.”

Oh my God. I cannot deal with this.
“Kyle, just go. Please. I’ll talk to you later.”

“How am I gonna get home?”

“Be a big boy and call a cab or take the bus.”

He looked at Mia with what appeared to be sincere heartache behind his eyes. “Fine. But next time you need someone to hold your hand and kiss your ass, don’t fuckin’ call me.”

Kyle stomped away. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. Add it to the list of things to go wrong that day.

Mia led Oliver upstairs as she had that first night. It felt like a lifetime ago. She headed directly to the kitchen. She’d needed the drink before, but after the altercation with Kyle, even more so.

Opening the fridge, she surveyed its contents. “I’ve got OJ and Pepsi. Which mixer would you like?”

“Just some ice is fine.”

Maybe straight up was the way to go. Mia just wanted to get drunk, and fast. She filled two small glasses with ice and topped them with raspberry vodka. She hoped Oliver wouldn’t mind. She capped the bottle and tucked it under her arm. Taking a glass in each hand, she joined him in the living room.

Oliver held up his glass. “To nailing the bastard who did this.”

“Hear! Hear!” She clinked her glass to his and sipped.

Man, that burned! But she kept on sipping. They sat there like that, quiet, for a while. Oliver set his glass down and refilled, tipping the bottle toward Mia. She held her glass for him to fill.

“So, were you sad to see your booty call go? I could have left and he stayed.”

Mia rolled her eyes at his smirk. “Kyle is just a friend.”

“Sure looked like more. He seemed crushed when you asked him to leave. I think he has a thing for you. Is it even legal for you to be with him, Mrs. Robinson?”

Mia laughed and hit him with a decorative pillow. “He’s nineteen. If you must know, he was one of the other applicants for the modeling job.” She sipped again. “But let’s not talk about him. I just want to sit here and get drunk.”

“Okay. Then I will sit here and get drunk with you.”

Mia glanced at Oliver over the rim of her glass. God, he looked so hot. This was a bad idea. Oliver should not be in her apartment, especially not while she was drinking. It was a well-known fact that she got silly when she drank. And the last thing she needed was to lose her head with Oliver.

OLIVER OPENED
his eyes and discovered he was at ground level, Mia’s slipper only inches away. His empty glass was close by. This must be the view a small dog has of the world. He rolled to his back, his spine screaming in pain. His body was not used to sleeping on a hardwood floor.

He sat up, head thumping and spinning. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the hard floor or the spinning head. A groan escaped his lips as he lowered himself back down.

“That about sums it up.” Mia’s voice came from above him. “I’d ask how you slept, but I can assume it wasn’t well.”

“Oh, I slept like a baby, it’s the waking part that sucks.”

“If it makes you feel any better, this couch is crazy lumpy.”

“It’s gotta be better than this floor.”

She giggled. “You said you’d be fine. Did it a million times in college.”

“Yeah, obviously my body has become accustomed to a little more comfort over the last decade or so. And it can’t handle the drinking, either. I don’t know if I’ve ever woken up this bad.”

How much had they drunk the night before? The vodka bottle was on the table on its side, so apparently they’d finished that. He vaguely remembered Mia bringing out some wine, too. It had been opened and in her fridge for a few weeks, but they drank it anyway.

God, she’d been so sexy dancing around the apartment, stereo on full blast. Had he danced, too? Oh, no. Oliver searched his brain and procured a fuzzy memory of him spinning Mia around and breaking out some kind of wobbly moves himself.

But her hands in his, her warmth radiating up his arms; that stuck out. He’d pulled her in and pushed her back away, some sort of swing dance, wishing he could just keep her in, pull her close, put his hands on her body instead. Cover her mouth and the rest of her with kisses. But even in his state of intoxication, he’d known it was not right. If she was ever going to forgive him, he needed to play it cool.

“You’re not puking, so you can’t be that hungover.” Her statement pulled him back to the present.

“True.” He glanced at the clock. Almost 11 a.m. “Shit. I’m late for work.”

Oliver sat up too fast, head ready to take off into space like a spinning UFO. No way would he survive a day at the office with this raging hangover. He searched for his cell phone.

“I think it might be in the fridge. I kinda sorta remember you getting some texts and you threw the phone in there so you wouldn’t hear it beep anymore.”

“Why didn’t I just silence the ringer?” He turned to Mia. She still looked like a goddess, even the morning after some hard-core drinking.

She shook her head. “No clue.”

Against his body’s wishes, he stood and went to the kitchen. Yep, nice and chilled on the shelf next to a half gallon of orange juice. He picked it up. Four missed calls and five texts, most of which were from Alexiana.

Call me Ollie.

I need you. Please call.

Where are you? Call me asap.

You have to help me.

You owe me.

What the hell did she want? Whatever it was, he had no interest in helping her. He owed her nothing.

But one call and voicemail were from his secretary. After skipping over Alexiana’s whiney voice, he listened.

“Mr. Christensen, sir, you were supposed to be in over an hour ago. Mr. Goldman has already been by once, asking for you. I told him you had some private things to tend to. Are you coming in? What should I tell him if he comes back?”

Poor Paula. She hated dealing with the big boss. He called her and told her he was sick and wouldn’t be coming in.

By the time he’d hung up, Mia was off the couch and stretching, the hem of her fitted tee rising to show a bit of her stomach. He salivated, a tingle in his groin, wishing he could run his tongue across her skin.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower quick, okay?” she said.

Only if I can come, too.
“Sure.”

“Then will you drive me to the shop? My car’s there, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“Give me five minutes. There’s bagels in the freezer if you wanna eat something.”

“Thanks. Not sure if I should test my luck.”

She rolled her eyes. “Lightweight.”

He watched her behind sway as she left he room, cotton yoga pants hugging every curve. Damn he wanted her, so bad. If only he hadn’t fucked it all up. That’s what he got for trying to make everyone but himself happy.

As the shower started, Oliver walked back to the living room, catching his reflection in a decorative mirror on the wall. Holy shit. His hair was poking in ten directions. He ran his hands under the kitchen faucet and tried to smooth it out. Did he even want to know what his breath smelled like? He looked around and found a small bag with sour hard candies on the counter. They weren’t his favorite, but at least it would help.

Under the bag of candy was a note:

I know these are sour, but you are sweet. Kyle.

Oliver’s chest tightened once again and the urge to vomit returned. The drinking hadn’t made him feel like puking, but the vision of Mia and that kid sure did.

It had taken everything in him the night before not to act like a jealous ass while she’d talked with Kyle. The “booty call” comment had been a joke, but the “just a friend” reply felt off. She didn’t admit to having sex with him, but she didn’t deny it, either. And he wasn’t sure which was worse.

But after what he’d done to her, he had no right to be jealous. He’d had a secret fiancée, for God’s sake. Every nasty thing she’d said to him had been completely justified. He so desperately needed to change that opinion of him. Maybe the night before had been a start.

And she did kick her boy toy to the curb. To be with him. Even if only as friends. That had to mean something, right?

The shower turned off and a few moments later, Mia trotted to her bedroom in only a towel. Damn. His pants suddenly felt extremely snug in the crotch.

“Gimme like two minutes,” she yelled as she closed the door behind her.

Better wipe that vision from his mind, and fast. He had two minutes to eradicate his hard on and the typical options were out of the question. So he pictured Kyle and Mia together. That did it. The nauseous feeling returned, but at least that wouldn’t be noticeable to Mia.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said as she appeared in the room, black skirt and a fitted royal blue button-down. The fabric gapped just a little bit in the bust.

Damn, that was hot.

Her wet hair had been pulled up into a bun sort of thing—total sexy librarian fantasy. All she needed was a pair of cat-eye glasses.

Mia and Kyle having sex. Mia and Kyle having sex. Mia and Kyle having sex.

They left and got in the car, Oliver keeping his gaze forward. Only a few more minutes and he could drop her at the shop and head for home to alleviate some of his pent-up sexual frustration. But when they pulled into the lot, it was so packed he couldn’t even park.

“Oh, no,” Mia sighed. “I thought yesterday was bad. If we have to give more refunds today, we’re going to be out of money and closing the shop immediately.”

Oliver found a spot on the street and they headed toward the back door of the shop. He saw Mia take a deep breath before pulling the handle and all he wanted to do was whisk her away so she wouldn’t face more animosity.

But when they walked in, dance music blared from the showroom. Mia turned to him, brows furrowed.

The shop was filled with people. Bryn was on the register and Penny ran around handing out model postcards. As Oliver took in the scene, he realized there was something very different about these customers. They were all men.

“It’s Oliver!” one exclaimed and trotted over. “I
so
need your Jane Hancock on my postcard!”

“Um.” He turned to Mia.

“You’re here!” Bryn said, noticing their arrival. “Oliver, get over there with Logan. And lose the jacket and shirt. The jeans can stay . . . for now.”

“What’s going on?” he asked Mia, catching Logan over in the corner wearing his Classy ’n’ Sassy briefs, posing with a couple of men, their hands on his abs.

“I have no idea.” Her smile was bigger than he’d ever seen it. “But I think you should listen to Bryn.”

No way would he wipe that smile away. He stepped forward and slid his jacket off.

“Work it, boy!” another customer shouted.

This was going to be interesting.

MIA JOINED
Bryn behind the front counter as Oliver took his place, not looking nearly as comfortable as Logan being adored by men.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. We got here this morning and there was already a line waiting. Guys. All guys.”

Penny came over. “I just handed out the last of the postcards. Think I should run and get something printed, even if its just photos on card stock?”

“Definitely,” Bryn answered. “And while you’re out, get some food and drinks, too. Anything. I don’t care what.” She turned back to her customer and handed him his credit card and the bag filled with what looked like a couple of boxes of dildos. “Thanks! Come again.”

“Oh, I will, honey, over and over!”

Mia turned to Bryn. “I don’t really get all this . . . attention,” she said.

“Me neither, but I’m not complaining.”

“Didn’t you see the magazine article?” a customer said.

Bryn and Mia shook their heads.

“Here,” he said and pulled something from his bag. “Page ten. Take a look.”

The cover of the magazine showed a group of naked men artfully and erotically arranged. The magazine’s title read
Iris,
and underneath, the caption read, “Celebrating the Rainbow of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender Beauty.”

Mia opened to the page, the entire left-hand side a photo of Logan from the launch party.

“That article, plus all those steamy photos online yesterday. Hot!” the customer gushed. “It was all anyone could talk about last night at Club Paradise. I just had to get down here and buy a Logan. And then I saw the Oliver, and oh my. Had to have him, too. So excited he’s here. Gotta go get him to sign my toy’s box.”

Well, these weren’t the customers they’d originally intended on marketing to, but sales were sales. After the hell they’d gone through the day before, Mia was incredibly thankful. Looks like they’d need to stock a whole bunch of different items for their new clientele.

Bryn turned to Mia after handing the man his bag and winked. “Guess maybe we shoulda increased our dildo order after all.”