Page 15 of The Fix Up

“There’s a thread or something caught in the zipper. I can’t get the pants off.”

She hesitated, resting a hand on the wall of the dressing room. “Do you want me to help?”

“You know, this really isn’t how I envisioned you offering to remove my pants.”

She felt the heat creeping into her cheeks again, torn between the embarrassment of the situation and the thrill of knowing he’d basically just admitted he’d pictured her taking off his pants.

It was a joke.Don’t get too excited.

“Should I go find Marcus?”

“Who’s Marcus?”

“The clerk. That’s what his nametag said, anyway.”

“I should pay more attention to stuff like that.”

“There’s your first lesson in public relations—always look for nametags.” She lowered her voice a little and glanced toward the door. “And based on the attention Marcus was paying to you, I get the sense he wouldn’t mind taking off your pants. What is it with you and sales clerks?”

Ben muttered something unintelligible that was probably some sort of engineering curse. “I’m about five seconds from whipping out my pocket knife and cutting the damn things off my body.”

“Don’t do that! They’re the only pair in your size and they don’t even need to be tailored.”

“I’ve been at this for ten minutes already.”

“Are you sure you’re sliding it the right way?”

“I have a doctorate in engineering,” he muttered. “I’m pretty sure I understand how a zipper works.”

She hesitated at the edge of the dressing room, biting her lip. “Do you want me to try?”

She heard the bolt click from the lock, and the door swung open. Holly stifled the urge to gasp. Ben stood there shirtless and barefoot with his hair tousled and wild. His hand was on his fly, his shirt was on the bench, and Holly was in serious danger of drooling on the floor.

He stuck his head out of the dressing room, glancing left and then right. No sign of the clerk. “This is nuts,” he said. “How hard can it be to take off a pair of pants?”

“Maybe it’s the angle,” she said, stepping toward him and trying her damnedest to maintain some professional composure. “Let me take a look.”

He took a step back, moving deeper into the dressing room. “Let’s do this in here. I’d rather not undress in the middle of the hallway.”

“Good point.” She followed him inside, making a concerted effort not to stare at his crotch. Then again, wasn’t that what she was supposed to be doing?

She let her gaze drop, wondering why it was so hot in this dressing room. Ben’s hand was still on his fly, but she could see he’d managed to get the zipper at least partway down.

“Um, could you maybe move your hand?”

“Sorry, yeah.”

He slid his hand away, revealing a happy trail that led into the top of a pair of red boxer briefs that appeared to be in much better condition than his socks. Thank God for small miracles.

There’s nothing small about what’s in those boxer briefs…

She ordered herself to stop entertaining lewd thoughts as she sat down on the bench in front of him, putting herself at eye-level with his crotch. Holy mother of hell, the man had ridiculous abs. She could grate cheese on them. Holly hadn’t pegged him as a gym rat, but clearly the man worked out.

Why was it so hot in this dressing room?

She took a deep breath and reached for his fly, ordering herself not to say anything dumb like “great fabric” or “nice body” or “fuck me.”

The zipper was stuck at half-mast, so she grabbed hold of it and gave a firm tug downward. Nothing. She pulled up, thinking maybe she could start over from the top. The damn thing didn’t budge. She peered closer, trying to figure out what the problem was.

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