Cuddle bear, p.2
Cuddle Bear, page 2
My face overheated and I swiped the back of my hand across my forehead. “It’s the St. Loren Quiltbag Reader, not really a magazine. And it’s nine hundred words, not an exposé.”
Indy snorted and stood, shaking his measuring tape in my direction. “Free suit advertising to gay men is worth its weight in platinum. And don’t get me started on lesbians and suits. They’re less willing to drop cash up front than the men are, but if you get one on the hook, they’ll be loyal buyers for years. I’ve had more than one woman or nonbinary person tell me it’s difficult to get a tailor to fit their suits correctly, and I still can’t figure that one out, but there you are—all you have to do is listen to people and do what they like.” He walked around me with an intense expression on his baby face, and my entire body blazed hot because I just knew he was staring at my round stomach and picking my bulk apart for all the imperfections he was going to hide with his wonderful clothing.
“Anytime in the last year when I’ve been out and see a nice suit and ask where it came from, I’ve gotten your name, Indy Yves.”
He put a hand over his chest and smirked. “You have wonderful taste. Now, where is your boss? You did text him almost an hour ago.”
“He said he would be—”
“I’m here.” Mr. Guidry’s voice jerked my attention toward the front door as he strode into the shop. I’d thought the space was large only minutes ago, but with him inside, all the oxygen was sucked up and it felt ten times smaller. He wore his suit well and was tall—or at least, taller than me—with strong shoulders and a slim waist, which had to be a thirty-two. I hadn’t seen that size since middle school. He ran his hand through his silver hair and swept some of the longer strands from the top off his forehead and back where they belonged. The smile he flashed at me made my stomach flip, and Indy nearly swooned as he went toward Mr. Guidry with his hand out.
“Hello, Mr. Guidry. I was not informed you would be such a delight to dress.”
I rolled my eyes since neither of them were looking at me, but Indy was right, so I couldn’t exactly feel too snarky. I should say something to Mr. Guidry, but I had no idea what, so I clamped my mouth shut. I wouldn’t have talked to him again tonight after the tension earlier, but Indy had texted me with this opening in his schedule, and it would’ve taken another month to get in here if we waited.
I watched as Mr. Guidry talked softly with Indy, giving him his full attention, the way he did with everyone he met. I used to think he was constantly flirting—and maybe to some degree he was—but he acted the same way with everyone. My boss was handsome and perfect and got hopes up everywhere he went. It was tragic, and I was part of the long line of oglers and dreamers. I’d given up on talking myself out of my crush and just hoped it passed soon. It had been holding strong for two years, though, with no end in sight.
Mr. Guidry glanced up at me as I hopped down off the small podium and put my shoes back on. He meant well and would never get why I was upset earlier. He’d probably never had a day pass in his life where someone didn’t give him special treatment because he was good-looking. Awkwardness clamped down on my chest as Indy slammed him with a flirty smile, then my stomach sank as Mr. Guidry shook with him and said something else that had Indy practically giggling.
And why wouldn’t they both be having a good time together? Indy was a gem come to life, and Mr. Guidry made my heart race every single day. They would be a breathtaking couple.
Mr. Guidry turned toward me and gave a little bow. “I received your text and here I am. I didn’t know there were bespoke clothing shops that worked so late.”
Indy tapped Mr. Guidry on the elbow. “I stayed open for you, sir, and boy am I glad I did.”
Mr. Guidry chuckled, but he cut a look at me and cleared his throat. His gray eyes captured me, and I couldn’t look away. “Mr. Baranov, about this evening—”
“I apologize for my outburst.” Misery swamped me. I really couldn’t handle any more embarrassment tonight, and I wanted to forget everything that had happened.
Indy’s eyebrows rose, and then he snatched a piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it like a teeny white truce flag. “Maurice, I’m going to put your numbers in my filing system. I’ll be right back.” He waggled his eyebrows at me and went through a small door to the right of the mirrors. It was obvious he was giving us a second to ourselves, and I both appreciated the gesture and loathed any conversation that would be forthcoming.
Mr. Guidry came over and stopped close to my side. I had to glance up into his face. He was taller than me by about five inches, and usually I enjoyed his size, but right now I just felt dumb and was having trouble taking pleasure in anything. His strong jaw hardened. “After we’re finished, may I buy you a drink to apologize, since we’re both still out and about? Surely this won’t take long.”
His cologne smelled fresh, and I didn’t know if he kept some in his office, but I couldn’t get enough of it as he took another small step closer to me and pursed his lips, as if he was mentally willing me to say yes.
“Uh, you don’t want to do that. It’s fine. I’m not upset,” I murmured.
“I would very much enjoy being out with you. Why would you say that?” He hooked his thumb in his jacket pocket and for all the world looked as if he’d leaped off one of the fashion-magazine covers—real magazines, not the rag I wrote for—spread out on the coffee tables near the couches.
“I didn’t mean to cause problems today.”
Mr. Guidry rested his hand on my shoulder, a light, warm weight I’d gotten used to feeling occasionally. He was a visceral person. “You didn’t.” He gave my shoulder a small squeeze.
“Numbers in!” Indy said loudly as he came rushing back into the room. “Okay, gents. You—” He pointed at Mr. Guidry. “—up there. Shoes off.”
Mr. Guidry complied, getting ready to replace me on the podium in front of the mirrors, while Indy shoved a heavy-duty black binder into my hands that had to weigh at least twenty pounds. I let out an “oomph.”
He snickered. “Cloth swatches—” He tapped the binder. “—for the winter season. Pick your favorites. Mr. Guidry, how many suits am I making?” He sashayed toward my boss with the measuring tape in his hands again.
My heart thudded faster because I truly did love picking out clothes, and I already had an idea of what colors I would like to see on Mr. Guidry later in the year. “Do you want a full winter wardrobe, sir?”
Mr. Guidry shrugged, the way I knew he would. He had to look good because he met with clients, but I got the idea he would wear literally anything if I wasn’t around to pick things out for him. “Whatever you think is best, Mr. Baranov. You have a good eye for this sort of thing.”
Any anger that was left over from earlier melted away at the compliment, and I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. Indy winked at me from his spot behind Mr. Guidry where he was measuring across his shoulders. I sat down on the closest leather couch and browsed the cloth swatches while Indy measured. He was frowning and scribbling down numbers in a pocket notebook, but I couldn’t help but squirm inside at the sight of him putting his hands all over Mr. Guidry, the same way he had me. It had to be done to get the numbers, but it seemed so intimate.
I picked out too many colors and scowled at the book as I flipped between them all. “Ten suits, sir?” I asked and shook my head.
He chuckled. “Better make it thirteen because I’m bound to have winter weddings. Oh, and I want one for Christmas, and a different one for New Year’s. There are always events and parties.”
Indy’s eyes went wide as he stared at me from where he was on the floor doing the same foot measurement that had almost made me tumble onto my butt. His mouth popped open, and when he glanced up at Mr. Guidry, I thought he might kiss the foot he was holding. I’d known Indy from around the city for a while, but this was the first time I’d spent more than a few minutes with the man, and I simultaneously wanted to laugh and smack him.
Indy stood smoothly and smiled. “You know, I tailor shirts, too. That way you get a perfect fit. You really should have a few to go with all those nice new suits.”
Mr. Guidry grunted.
“I would love that,” I said. God, cloth stretched perfectly across my boss’s chest? Yes, please.
“Fine,” Mr. Guidry said with a shrug, but he smiled at me as Indy took a few more measurements.
“I need to get this shirt off you for a minute, then,” Indy said, and he looked like a kid in a candy store.
Mr. Guidry shrugged again, and I nearly swallowed my tongue as he unbuttoned his shirt and his cut chest and abs came into view. He wasn’t huge from working out but very toned. Maybe he was a swimmer? I already had a semi by the time I turned my back on him. The tuft of salt-and-pepper curls in the center of his chest would be burned in my brain forever.
About ten minutes later I was thankfully under control and we were wrapping up. Indy had noted all the selections I’d made, and double- and triple-confirmed everything so there would be no mistakes. He took my email—“So I can run my designs past the real decision maker. You realize this could take up to three months? Yes? Good!”—and then Mr. Guidry and I were unceremoniously ushered out the front door and the lock was turned behind us.
Mr. Guidry laughed while I stared up at a wrought iron lamppost with a hanging basket of pink teacup roses attached to it. The blooms spilled down over the edge of the mossy container, and I suspected they were something Indy’s shop maintained. A group of people out for the night walked by us on the sidewalk, talking and laughing, the women in nice summer dresses, and the men in jeans and T-shirts, not trying too hard. Floral perfume and cologne tangled in the air behind them. Across the street, low, sexy live music spilled out as the door opened on a bar with no name on the facade. The neon signs advertising various brands of alcohol in the windows made it clear you could drink there.
Mr. Guidry smiled, and an uncontrollable awkwardness welled up inside me as he gazed into my eyes. I shoved my glasses up the bridge of my nose. I always felt this way when I had nothing I should be doing around him. I was anxious and wasn’t sure why. He’d never, ever yelled at me, unlike one or two other bosses I’d had before him. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, attempting to work up the courage to say something—anything—when Mr. Guidry touched my elbow.
“How about that drink? How have we never gone out to unwind?” He gave me a small smile that was a touch warmer than anything he’d ever shared in the office.
“Uh, that’s probably my fault. I don’t like to go out much. I think you’ve asked in the past.”
“Why is that?” He cocked his head and didn’t look away from my face.
Oh God. My cheeks superheated. Sometimes I noticed people watching me when I was out in a restaurant—or any food situation, really—and somewhere in the back of my mind I always worried I was being judged. “A, uh, personal peculiarity,” I finally mumbled because he was still studying me.
“Fascinating.”
I laughed because I didn’t know what else to do, and Mr. Guidry still didn’t look away from me. My heart hammered. I loved being near him and this was so stupid. I was going to feel worse later because I’d gotten to spend time as the center of his attention. Out of desperation I pointed at the bar across the street. The faster we got this over with, the better. “Want to go there?”
His eyebrows rose. “The Dame Enchanteé?” He shrugged. “Why not? Haven’t been there in a while.” His tone alerted me that maybe I should ask a few more questions, but I didn’t, and together we crossed the street. He opened the copper door, standing aside to allow me to go first, which I smiled at him for because I never knew what to do when someone did things like that. The music washed over me—a low bassline and light piano notes raced together, then a beautiful deep voice swelled, not singing words, just belting out a melody. A woman joined in and started singing about love. Mr. Guidry rested a hand on my back and ushered me in.
“It’s a jazz bar,” I said over my shoulder, and I shivered as we walked into the dimly lit room, the stage the centerpiece with the brightest lights focused there. Small round tables with candles flickering in the center were scattered throughout the area, and half-moon booths took up the wall to the left. On the right side of the space, a copper bar gleamed under the red lights above it. Nearly every seat was taken, and people stood in clumps around the room, talking.
“We could go somewhere else,” I said, leaning closer to Mr. Guidry so he could hear me. He rested his arm across my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. I almost stopped breathing.
“No, this is fine. Grab that booth.” He pointed at the corner closest to the stage where a small group of people were leaving, and I kicked into work mode, immediately following his order. I felt a little silly as I slid around the tabletop into the center of the curved booth that nearly wasn’t big enough to give me room to sit. The black leather was supple under my fingers when I ran them across the seat, and I paused. I’d never touched anything quite so soft. It felt expensive. Damn it, how much will our drinks cost?
Mr. Guidry came over with a smile and leaned across the table. “You left in such a hurry I didn’t get to ask what you prefer to drink.”
“Oh.” I wanted to hide under the table. He stared at me expectantly, and I bit my lip while he flicked his head to get a strand of silver hair out of his eyes. I wanted to say a beer, but half the time when I tried to order one, the people I was with would tell me all about the calories, and I didn’t want that lecture tonight. No, I never wanted to see disappointment slide across Mr. Guidry’s face. “Vodka tonic on ice.”
He smiled and walked to the bar, shoulders back and head high, as if he owned the whole planet, and people moved out of his way and let him get right in to place an order. I shook my head—some men had all the luck. The song switched to something slower with more saxophone that reminded me of long, lonely nights, and the spotlight shifted to the man as he eased into a song about being left for someone else that twisted up my heart. I was startled when a tumbler slid in front of me.
Mr. Guidry took a seat at my side. “His voice is amazing.”
I nodded, and awkwardness paralyzed my tongue, so I sipped my drink. Mr. Guidry had what I thought might be a porter because the beer in his tall glass was dark, and I was instantly jealous. I glanced at him and froze because his gray eyes weren’t on the stage—they were on me.
“Wick.”
“Excuse me?” I choked on my drink, covering my mouth with my fist, and he patted my back as I coughed.
“My friends call me Wick.”
“Oh, well.” I slapped my chest, and he smiled. “My friends call me Reece.”
He frowned.
“What?” I asked with a laugh.
He reached over and moved my tumbler away from the edge of the table where I’d slammed it when I started coughing, and my entire body warmed as he raised an eyebrow at me and centered the tumbler in front of me. “You are more refined than a Reece. Would it bother you if I call you Maurice?”
“No, it’s my name.” I grinned at him.
He rolled his eyes, and I thought maybe that was the first time I’d ever seen him do it. “Well, my name is Fenwick and I hate it. Please abandon it first chance you get.”
Laughing, I shook my head as I picked up my drink. I took a sip and almost choked again—whoever had poured it went heavy on the vodka, and I’d forgotten to ask for a semipalatable flavor.
“What’s that about?” Mr. Guidry asked.
I set the tumbler down. “What?”
“You made a face.” Both of his eyebrows were nearly at his hairline now. “Didn’t they mix it correctly?”
“Oh, I hate vodka.”
He blinked at me for a moment, then glanced at the stage and back again. “Why did you ask for it, then?”
Embarrassment swamped me once more, and my stomach did a jig as I took notice of his heat pressed against my side. “Do you want the truth?” Maybe I could blame the half a mouthful of booze for the burning desire to share with him. . . or maybe it was his steady gaze glued to my face, as if I were the most interesting person in the world.
“Yes.”
I spun the tumbler around until a ring of condensation circles decorated the table. “I usually get judgy looks for ordering anything else, either from the people I’m with or the bartender or server. Inevitably someone brings up the calorie count of the various drinks people ordered. Vodka tonics are a skinny-person drink.”
He leaned back and knocked his knee against my leg. “What would you prefer?”
“Dark beer,” I said without hesitation. “Any kind. I’m not picky.”
He winked, and my face felt like it was two feet from the sun. “I’ll be back.”
The music rolled over me and washed away some of my humiliation. I tried to focus on the stage while calling myself a hundred different names for stupid as I cut my attention between the performers and Mr. Guidry’s back at the bar.
Wick, he’d asked me to call him Wick. I covered my smile with my hand. God, I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but it was nice to finally get closer to him. When he returned, he slid a beer in front of me and made a big show of depositing the vodka tonic on the far side of the table. We were both grinning when he was done. I took a sip of the beer and immediately the rich taste washed the medicinal horror of the vodka tonic from my palate.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” He leaned his shoulder against mine, and for a moment his brow furrowed and he appeared confused, but then he smiled again. “I’m not about to judge your tastes because I happen to know they’re exquisite.” He gave my sleeve a little tug that sent a streak of heat directly to my groin, and I took a long sip of my beer to try to ignore my reaction, but he smelled good and he felt good, and he was. . . being himself.
