Codi
I curse myself again for looking at the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of the handsome stranger that’s been plaguing my thoughts. He shouldn’t be. I know that. I’m not stupid. I know he’s dangerous. If the blackness dancing in his gray, wolf-like eyes wasn’t a giveaway, the tattoos and bruising most definitely should’ve been. He was so, ugh, I don’t know, magnificent, in his menace. Don’t get me wrong, he was pretty. So very pretty. Dark lashes surrounding his predatory eyes, dirty blonde hair styled in a way that makes it obvious he takes pride in his appearance. Shaved short along the sides, longer on top, his fringe tickling his forehead. His body was big; tall, broad, but lean enough to downplay his bulk. Almost every visible inch of skin was decorated with colorful ink; down his arms, on his hands, up his neck. I wanted a closer look. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Don’t get me wrong, associates of my father’s have tattoos, but not like this. Not so artfully placed on their bodies.
My eyes hit the glass again and I growl in frustration at myself. This is ridiculous. Why my thoughts seem completely derailed by this man, I have no clue. I’m smarter than this, Jesus, he didn’t even ask my name. He didn’t ask or say much of anything, really. He just kinda stood there, staring. It wasn’t creepy though. More confusing, maybe a little intriguing.
“Excuse me?” I turn my head, plastering on a smile to the customer standing in front of me. “Would you have this in a smaller size?”
I glance at the black mini-dress held within her hands and rid my mind of the dangerous stranger. Pushing away from the counter, I walk toward her, hands reaching for the dress. “Let me check.”
She smiles her thanks, moving back toward the fitting rooms. Having handed her the next size down, the door chimes in its sing-song declaration that someone has entered the store and I move in that direction to greet my customer.
My feet stumble when I see him, an awkward stagger before I catch myself, smoothing my skirt to hide my embarrassment. His arms are crossed over his wide chest, eyes scanning the immediate space in search of me. He smirks at my misstep, not amused, more pleased at the reaction he seemed to have caused.
“Hello, Bob.”
A fleeting glance of shock cloaks his features before he schools it, letting his indifference once again stare out. “Bob?”
I shrug. “You wouldn’t give me your name, so I picked one for myself.”
He tries hard to camouflage the smile once again twitching at his mouth. “And Bob was the best you came up with?”
Again, I shrug. “Humanized you a little.”
He turns his face to laugh, a delicate rose tattooed on the column of his neck taunting me with the threat in the sound. “Sugar, trust me, best you consider me for the monster I am.”
I’m taken aback by his words. At his belief in the words he just spoke.
“I don’t see a monster when I look at you. I see danger, sure. But no monster.”
“You ain’t lookin’ hard enough then.”
I blink at him slowly, trying to read his intention. He’s here. A purposeful act to see me again, but he’s what, warning me off?
“Agree to disagree,” I dismiss him, moving to a display of clothes to readjust unnecessarily.
“Parker.”
His voice is coated with a rough gravel, and I gift myself a moment to turn back and look at him properly. His bruising has subsided in the few days since I first saw him, his eye socket and jaw now tarnished with a faint yellow hue.
“Sorry?” I ask.
“My name. It’s Parker.”
“Hmmm,” I nod thoughtfully. “Suits you better than Bob.”
We share a smile and I giggle internally, happy that I brought a genuine grin to his face. Sure, he’s smiled a few times, but there always seems to be a falseness behind it. An act. A portrayal of someone he’s trying to be.
“Lookin’ to buy somethin’ this time,” he states and I raise an eyebrow in shock. “For a girl,” he continues and my happiness dissipates, disappointment filtering inside me at reading his signals so wrong.
I school my features, plastering on the smile I’ve been trained to offer and his eyes settle on my face, his brow furrowing as he focuses on my mouth. “Don’t do that.”
My smile falters. “Sorry?”
“Your smile. That one was fake. Don’t smile at me like that. I only want your real ones.”
I cough out my embarrassment, uncertain at his strange statement. He looks much the same. Pushed off-guard by his own demand.
His head twists and turns, his eyes scanning over the space of my workplace. “You wear shit from here?”
I don’t answer. Not purposefully. Confusion seems to have consumed my mind and I struggle with piecing words together.
His intense stare falls back onto me after moments of silence and an eyebrow rises in question.
Readjusting my blouse, I clear my throat. “Sorry, what?”
“You do that a lot. Apologize unnecessarily. You should stop that. I asked if you shop here yourself?”
I stutter. “Ummm… No. I, ah, sometimes.” I nod blankly. “They have cute dresses every once in a while, but mostly I feel more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt.”
He assesses my outfit; my tight-fitting pencil skirt and white blouse.
“Dress code,” I fill in unnecessarily with a shrug.
The girl I’d been helping moments before Parker’s untimely arrival steps into the space and freezes awkwardly.
“Better?” I direct my full attention to her, turning my back on Parker.
She glances to Parker, then back to me. “Much. I’ll take it.”
I gesture at the counter and she moves toward it without looking at us again.
“Have a look around for your girlfriend, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he speaks to my back. My feet falter again and I miss a step, recovering it quickly. “Not yet, anyway.”
Serving the customer, I work my hardest to ignore the penetrating stare of the dangerous man suffocating my workspace. My cheeks feel flushed and my hands shake.
Waiting for the young girl to leave the store, I push out a breath, turning back to Parker. I begin to smile but stop, his words dancing in the forefront of my mind.
Don’t smile at me like that. I only want your real ones.
“Show me something you would wear,” he steps into my path, a little closer than comfortable as I move out from behind the counter.
I’m more than a little confused as to what’s happening right now. First time I met him, he spoke in riddles, making me read into signals that clearly weren’t there if he’s in here buying clothes for a girl that’s not yet his girlfriend.
He considers me for a drawn-out moment, stepping farther into my space. “You haven’t told me your name.”
My forehead creases in confusion. “You didn’t ask for it. You basically told me you didn’t want to know it.”
He tsks me, a grin forming on his pretty face. “Never said I didn’t want it, Sugar. Said it would be more fun this way. It worked, you’ve been thinkin’ about me?”
I lift my chin in defiance, refusing to answer his question.
“Take that as a yes,” he leans in on a whisper, his warm breath tickling the skin on my neck.
I swallow loudly, heat rising along my cheeks. I inch backward, trying to force space between us, but he moves in time with me, making certain he remains as close as possible.
“You didn’t give me your name.”
“We have a new selection of dresses that are quite cute. I would wear them. Follow me.” I ignore his mixed cues, walking on hurried feet toward the selection of dresses that only arrived this week.
He follows me without pause, but his eyes remain fixed on me, not the dresses I’m gesturing toward.
“She’s your size. Pick whatever one would be your favorite.”
I swallow heavily. “Skin tone?”
“Like yours.”
I roll my eyes, turning completely toward the dresses. Without second guessing myself, I pull out the red backless dress from the rack, handing it to him.
“It’s modest in its sexiness. It has long sleeves and sits an inch or two above the knee, but it has no back. It’s sexy as all hell.”
Once again his eyes don’t touch the material clutched in my hand, eyes remaining fixated on me. Finally, he nods, turning his back without another word and stalks to the counter.
I pause for a breath, closing my eyes as I pull air in through my nose. Straightening my shoulders, I follow him.
I complete his transaction silently, but he doesn’t push me for further conversation, his stare lingering on my movements. He passes his credit card over, balancing it between his index and middle finger.
“Parker Shay,” I read from the card, finalizing the sale and I could be certain his whole body locks solid as his name rolls off my tongue. He watches me expectantly, almost readying himself for something ugly.
I raise an eyebrow, handing his card back the same way he presented it and he looks to my hand as I will it not to shake. Finally, he retrieves it, tucking it back into his wallet before taking the bag I hold out to him.
“What shoes would you wear with it?”
Is this guy freakin’ serious?
He comes in here, throws me mixed signals, now wants me to dress the girl he’s wooing.
I sigh. Loudly. “Depends. If I don’t want to be too flashy, I’d probably wear a nude pump or point. If I was goin’ to a club, I’d probably match the shoes. Red sequin pumps. High ones.”
He nods thoughtfully, his bottom lip tipped out in contemplation. “Thanks, Sugar.”
“Hope your friend, who isn’t your girlfriend, likes the dress.”
My words sound more acidic then I mean them to, and I want to kick myself at that annoying smirk twitching at the side of his mouth.
I watch his retreat, deflated at the thought that I probably won’t see him again. He pauses at the door, glancing over his shoulder. “You never told me your name.”
I shrug dejectedly. “Does it really matter?”
Nodding solemnly, he pushes the door open, walking into the street and disappearing into the heavy foot traffic.
“Well, if that wasn’t the most confusing interaction I’ve had with a male before,” I mumble to myself, pulling my eyes from where he stood only moments ago.
Checking the time, I grab my purse, cell, and keys, locking up and leaving the shop in search of coffee and a little something sweet to lift my mood. Sugar helps. Always. It doesn’t throw me mixed signals. It’s dependable. Always delicious.
I spend my lunch break meandering through the crowd, sipping coffee and window shopping. Contrary to my outward appearance, I’m not high maintenance. I crave simplicity in my style. I live for jeans, a tee and my converse. So shopping isn’t something I care to spend my time doing. Maybe that’s strange, considering I work in a clothing store. But I enjoy interacting with people. It’s easy, carefree. Shopping itself I find mind-numbing, which today, works. The monotony of it all helps me shut off my mind and more importantly, remove a certain tattooed somebody from my brain.
My eye catches the front counter as I step back through the shop’s door, a flat white box sitting where it most definitely was not when I left.
I glance around the space, scanning for anything else that might be out of place, but everything seems as it should. Dropping my belongings on the counter, I pull the box toward me, lifting the lid slowly.
Whatever’s inside is wrapped delicately in black tissue paper and I unfold it cautiously. The red material hits my eyes first and I pause, hands balled into fists as I turn my head looking for him. He’s not there, the space is silent, save my heavy breathing.
Lifting the dress from the box, I lay it on the counter, eyeing it skeptically, gnawing my thumbnail between my teeth. Using my index finger, I pull the box closer to me, moving the tissue paper in search for anything else.
A folded piece of paper comes into view and I grab at it quickly, flicking it open to read his words.
Wear the red shoes.
8pm. Ruin.
Parker
It matters to me. Your name.
Pulling my hands up to my face, I feel my cheeks before cupping my nose and mouth. I want to squeal. I want to dance. I want to jump up and down.
But I don’t.
The disturbing fact that he was able to get into the locked store without detection or without alarming any of the numerous people walking past every given second, stops me from reacting.
There’s a good chance he’s watching. Observing.
So instead of squealing, instead of dancing, instead of jumping up and down, I place the dress carefully back in the box, press the card delicately on top and replace the lid, grinning the entire time.
***
I stand in my underwear, staring at the dress draped across my bed.
I should go. He invited me. I like him. I think. I don’t really know him. But do you really know anyone before you start dating them?
It’s too risky. Too dangerous. He is too risky. Too dangerous. Good God, the man is menace personified. Storming eyes, inked skin and ripped muscles. Not to mention the bruising, the cuts. He vibrates threat, daring anyone to challenge him.
“Reason you’re standing in only your underwear, biting your nail all the while staring at a scrap of red material?”
I turn at Camryn’s voice, smiling at her in greeting. Her shoulder is propped against my doorframe, scrubs covering her body, feet bare.
“That guy came back into the shop,” I explain. “It was odd. Again. I thought I’d read his signals wrong, he came in to buy something for a girl. Turns out, that girl was me, this dress was waiting on the counter, gift wrapped.” I add with an arched eyebrow, “When I came back from lunch. Left me a note asking me to meet him tonight at Ruin.”
“How the fuck did he get into the shop if you were at lunch?” She pushes off the doorframe, walking into my room to drop onto my bed. “Cute dress by the way.”
I nod. “I’m refusing to think about how he managed to break into the shop without actually breaking in.”
She nods offhandedly. “Still don’t know why you work in that rich-bitch shop. You’re too smart to be serving people for a living.”
I frown at her. “Ryn. I like it. It’s stress-free.”
“So, you like him, he bought you a dress, invited you out, but you’re second guessing?”
My hands fall to my hips. “You’re right. I should go.”
“You should go,” she agrees. “As long as you feel safe around him.”
I sigh, moving to sit next to her. “I shouldn’t feel safe. He’s definitely dark, there’s something working behind his eyes, but he doesn’t scare me.”
She looks a million miles away and I know better than to reach out and touch her, so I wait for her to come back to me. She does, eventually, forcing a pained smile onto her face before standing up. “Instincts are usually pretty spot on.”
She watches me for a beat, forcing away her demons before smiling at me in affection. “I’m done starin’ at your tits. I’m gonna eat something incredibly unhealthy and pass out.”
She stops at my door, hand on the frame as she glances back. “Be safe, ok? Text or call me and let me know what you’re doing.”
“You could come you know,” I call out to her retreating form.
“HA!” she barks out. “Good one.”