Page 8 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
He laughs, squeezing me. “I’m here, little bug. Your drab, colorless existence will commence being extremely fabulous right about now.” He gives me another squeeze for emphasis, then pulls back to examine me at arms’ length. He grows instantly sober. “Dear God. You’re even prettier than the last time I saw you. Are you in love?”
One of the many reasons I adore my older brother: he gives compliments like no one’s business.
“What are you doing here? Did you just get in? I thought we’d see you later at the ’rents for dinner!”
He winks at me. I see exactly why every gay man in a fifty-mile radius has just achieved an erection, even if they don’t know why. My brother is gorgeous, if I do say so myself. He’s wearing a dove-gray suit, no tie, white dress shirt open at the collar. His dark hair is perfect, as are his teeth, his skin, and every accessory, right down to the silk pocket square peeking out of his jacket. He’s tall and slender like a model, and has the cheekbones of a model, too, but with none of a model’s self-consciousness. He’s completely at ease in his own skin, in spite of growing up with parents who refuse to acknowledge he’s gay.
I still haven’t forgiven them for that. Miraculously, it doesn’t bother James a bit. He accepts people’s shortcomings without judgment, even when they’re viciously judging him themselves.
He smiles warmly at me, hazel eyes crinkling around the corners. “I had to see how the infamous ‘bespoke boutique’ was doing. Couldn’t miss an opportunity to rub your success in Mommy Dearest’s face, now, could I?”
I roll my eyes. “As if Mommy Dearest would care.”
He purses his lips and shrugs. “Mmm. She might care. If you ever land the cover of Vanity Fair, that is. Until then, if she can’t brag about it to her social set, it’s simply not worth the effort. Don’t take it personally, bug, she can’t help herself. Her mother is British aristocracy. If that wouldn’t ruin you, I don’t know what would.”
We share wry smiles, then a tinny squawking distracts me. I realize I’ve still got my customer on the line. I hold a finger in the air for Jamie and whip the phone to my ear. “Mr. Thornton! I’m so sorry, please excuse me.” I continue with the order as I watch from the corner of my eye as James begins politely poking his nose into my business.
He strolls nonchalantly around the counter, lifting a notepad here, opening a file folder there, quickly and efficiently assessing everything within sight. I see him mentally catalogue the entire operation in a glance, nodding in satisfaction every so often. He frowns briefly at the state of disarray around the cash register, where the young son of my last customer tampered with a display of enclosure cards. Jamie quickly and silently straightens the display, leaving it looking better than it had before.
He’s always been like this. Inquisitive. Precise. Unobtrusively infusing elegance into everything he touches. I can’t believe some lucky guy hasn’t put a ring on his finger yet.
Just as I finish the call with Mr. Thornton, Jamie falls still. His lips part. His eyes widen. He stares in fascination at something behind me, looking over my shoulder as if a unicorn has just pranced into the room.
I glance in the direction he’s looking, expecting to see some hot young underwear model or something of the sort. Oh, how wrong I am.
A.J. Edwards stands in front of my counter, as broad and imposing as Thor. Today he’s wearing faded jeans that are stuffed into combat boots with no laces, a battered brown leather bomber jacket, and a pair of aviators that obscure his eyes. His long hair is tied into a sloppy knot at the nape of his neck. He’s unshaven, as usual. He gives my brother a friendly chin jerk in acknowledgment. “Hey.”
Jamie makes a faint noise, not quite a hello. I can tell he wants to fan himself.
A.J. turns his attention to me. I can’t see his eyes because of the aviators, but I imagine I feel their intensity penetrating through. With slightly less acidity than he normally addresses me with, he says, “I need to place an order.”
My central nervous system decides it’s a circus. Acrobats catapult through my intestines. Clowns on pogo stic
ks bounce around in my brain. A chimpanzee twirls a baton and rides a unicycle back and forth inside my heart, and a strongman tightens a pair of bulging biceps around my throat, squeezing off all my air. I am paralyzed by the clamor of activity, and stare stupidly at A.J. as if he has just arrived from outer space.
He removes the sunglasses. He stares at me. He doesn’t smile.
Jamie nudges me with his elbow, and I snap out of my stupor. “You can order online,” I blurt, without an ounce of warmth. Jamie shoots me a surprised glance. I’m never this grouchy to people, but he doesn’t know the history between me and the grizzly bear standing on the other side of my counter.
A.J. says, “Don’t have a computer.”
I take that in, wondering if he doesn’t know how to use a computer, or if he’s just one of those antisocial people who hates technology. I decide on the latter. “You can also call to place an order. You didn’t have to come in.”
“Don’t have a phone.”
It takes me longer to process that. “What kind of person doesn’t have a computer or a phone?”
A.J. moistens his lips. He runs a hand over his unruly hair. Beside me, Jamie watches with unabashed fascination. Though I hate to admit it, I can’t say I blame him. The simple gestures somehow look incredibly erotic.
“You going to help me out with the flowers, or not?” A.J.’s voice is gruff now. His strange new patience with me has already grown thin.
My ears go hot with anger. My voice, though quiet, drips with contempt. “There are plenty of other flower shops in this town with owners you don’t despise. Why don’t you go try one of them?”
That brings a hint of a smile to his mouth, which promptly fades, as if his lips aren’t used to curving in any direction but down. “Nico said your shop is the best. I need the best.” He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “I can put up with some aggravation in order to get it.”
My eyes bug out. Aggravation? I’m aggravating? Of all the nerve—
“Of course we can help you! Let me just get an order form, sir, and I’ll take care of everything.”
