Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet Book 2) (14 page)

I wasn’t into it like Mom, but if buying me new clothes got her off my back about Braden—and finally gave me some breathing room—I was all for it. I couldn’t go back to the apartment, not until I knew what my course of action would be. So, a day of shopping didn’t sound so bad while I mulled things over.

“I think you look lovely in it.” My mother walked around, her critical eye examining it from every angle.

“What will I wear it to? My
quinceañera
?”

“I’m sure you have plenty of weddings to attend next spring. In this, you’ll outshine the bride.” She smiled.

“Yes, Mom, because my goal is always to ruin the bride’s special day by flouncing around in a sherbet-colored dress and flashing my panties at all the boys, including the groom.” I stepped down from the modeling podium and walked into my separate changing area. I didn’t mention that I had, on plenty of occasions, bagged a groomsman or two at my friends’ weddings, often using similar tactics to what I just described.

Mom gave an over-dramatic sigh. “Stop being difficult, and try on the next dress.”

“This one is the newest from the Valentino line.” The snooty shopping assistant reassured my mother that she was, for certain, buying the most expensive shit in all of Saks. “I wish I could have been at the runway show. It was faboosh, beyond transcendentine, positively luxotic.”

“Those aren’t words,” I muttered and fought the zipper on my mother’s next selection. This one wasn’t so bad. It was a sky blue sheath that fell mid-thigh and had an interesting peasant-top ruffle at the bust line.

I walked out and stood on the podium as the assistant—a man wearing more makeup than I owned—flittered about and crowed about the fit.

Mom took a swig of the complimentary champagne. “Cyrano, she looks like a barmaid.”

I smiled at myself in the mirror. “It’s my favorite one so far. Tit-tastic.” If a dress made it look like I had actual breasts that were bigger than a teacup, then I was sold.

“An excellent choice. The bodice is ahead of its time. I have a feeling peasant will be in three years from now.” Cyrano—if that was actually his name—twirled one side of his too-thick mustache and affected a lisp that screamed “flamer.” But he wasn’t fooling me. I’d seen him checking out my tits and ass while I modeled my dresses. He was straight, but likely knew that pretending to like the dick was the surest way to get commissions in a Saks dressing room.

Let’s test this theory.
I smirked and headed back into the changing area. After yanking my zipper halfway down, I called, “My zipper is stuck. Cyrano, a little help?”

He pushed through the white curtain and let it fall behind him. His eyes took in my bare back and bra strap.

“I can’t quite get it.” I smiled at him in the mirror.

“Allow me, mademoiselle.” He gripped the zipper and pulled it down easily. “There we are.”

I let the dress fall to the floor and turned to face him. His gaze froze on my tits, then lowered to the lace over my pussy.

I plucked at the edge of my panties, pulling them away from my hip. Then I looked at him through my lashes. “Do you think I’d have to go without panties in that dress. Did you see a line?”

He licked his lips. “I-I think—” His voice had lowered two octaves in the space of ten seconds.

When I saw his boner at war with the front of his skinny pants, I laughed. “So busted. Quit ogling my pussy, and go entertain my mom.”

“What?” He cleared his throat and raised his voice into a nasal pitch again. “Oh, vaginas are so icky. I would never—”

“Tell it to your boner.” I crossed my arms over my chest and gave his crotch a pointed stare.

He dropped the act. “Look, I make good money this way, okay? When I played it straight, women never took my style advice. Style is my life, and this is the only way I can be around it and make money at it. Please don’t say anything.”

Guilt filtered through me, and I dropped my arms. “I’m not judging. Well, I’m not now, anyway. I was just messing with you.”

He smiled a little. “What gave me away?”

“Your roving eye.”

“I’ve been trying to work on that, but when I see a beautiful woman.” He gestured at me. “I can’t help it sometimes.”

An idea struck me like a wild pitch. “You get the inside scoop on designer clothes and what the customers come in here looking for all the time, right?”

He ran his thumbs up and down his bright pink suspenders. “Yeah. It’s kind of my job.”

“I’ll tell you what—wait, what’s your name?”

“Cyrano.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, your
real
name.”

His shoulders drooped. “Cyrus.”

“Okay, Cyrus. You agree to let me interview you for my magazine, and I won’t tell everyone what a true pussy-fiend you are. Sound like a deal?”

“Magazine?” He twirled his mustache.

“I work for
Style and Substance
.”

His eyes lit up, and he grabbed my upper arms. “Are you shitting me?”

I shook my head. “Not even a little shitting. Not so much as a shart.”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted. Then he ran his hands down my arms. “Sorry about that. It’s just, that’s my favorite fashion mag. It’s so down-to-earth but also classy beyond belief.”

His enthusiasm had my mind whirling in all different directions, but first things first.

“Good.” I plucked one of his business cards from the front pocket of his plaid shirt. “I’ll be in touch,
Cyrano
.”

After Mom bought the ruffle dress and then guilted the
quinceañera
dress on me, despite my protests, we finally left Saks and meandered around some other high-end shops. She picked out some obscenely expensive bags and shoes, then we stopped to eat at one of the upscale restaurants within the shopping center.

“We have a reservation. Graves.” Mom handed her bags to the maître d, as if it were perfectly acceptable to treat restaurant staff like bell hops.

He paused for a moment, then took her bags and passed them off to another server for safekeeping. “Right this way, Mrs. Graves.”

We followed him through a sea of tables covered in white cloths and fresh floral arrangements.

“One of your number has already arrived.” He stepped aside and showed us to a table. Carter sat facing me, his eyes traveling down the length of my body.

Irritation rose inside me, and I hissed into Mom’s ear, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Having lunch.” She took the only chair across the round table from Carter, forcing me to either sit at his side or skip lunch. Since option two simply wasn’t something I was prepared to do, I grabbed the chair next to Carter and yanked it away from him. I sat between the two of them, not sure who I should glare at the hardest.

“You look beautiful.” Carter gave a self-satisfied smile. He wore a light green button-down shirt, the collars cuffed to give an air of ease.

Instead of relaxed, I was on edge. I ordered a glass of wine from the first server I saw and settled in to play the silent game.

“How was shopping?”

I stared at him, my lips pressed together in childish rebellion. It may have been juvenile, but it felt so good to see his cheery demeanor fade each second I refused to respond.

Mom cut in, “We found some lovely things. Nikki has a few new dresses, and one was particularly gorgeous on her. Pink has always been her color.”

Carter smirked. “I’ve always liked pink, too, especially since Nikki wears it so well.” He smoothed his hand along my thigh under the table.

Mom, completely oblivious, took a drink of her wine as our server placed a small loaf of baguette on the table.

I slapped Carter’s hand away and stood. It hurt to give up on a free lunch, but I couldn’t deal with them anymore. Their plotting was beginning to feel like a dry dick in my ass.

“I think I’ll get a cab home.”

“Nikki, darling—”

“No, I’ve had enough.” I grabbed my wine glass and downed it, then snatched the crusty bread and the little butter dish that came with it. Some things were sacred, after all.

I turned and stormed out, ignoring my mother’s embarrassed pleas. The shopping center was built like a town center, with cobblestone streets and stores lining each side. As soon as I left, the sun hit me, along with the smell of popcorn and freshly mowed grass. If I closed my eyes, it was as if I were at the ballpark with Braden out in front of me, smiling and going to work. My heart felt suddenly lighter than it had the past few days.

I ripped the bread in half and dug it into the whipped butter before taking a huge bite. The baguette was buttery and warm, and stealing it was by far the best decision I’d made in weeks.

I walked a few more steps and readied to take another bite when a hand gripped my elbow almost painfully. Carter whipped me around, sending my bread and butter flying onto the cobblestones. Unforgiveable.

“Hey, fucker—”

He pressed me into a kiss and wrapped his arms around me, caging me against his body. I yelled into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to sink his tongue deep enough to make me gag. He bent me backward, and I clutched at him to try and keep my balance. I would knee him as soon as I got the chance, and he would know to never touch me again.

“Nikki?” Braden’s voice cut through my anger, and before I had the chance to use my knee, Carter was on his back.

B
RADEN

I
HOBBLED AROUND
the store, trying to wrap my head around why everything was so expensive.

“Yes, ma’am. Can you tell me about this here Louis Pee Dong number?” Kasey winked at me, and then smiled at the sales lady.

I almost doubled over until my knee buckled.
Fuck.
It wasn’t getting any better, and it’d been days since the game.

“It’s Louis
Vuitton
, and it’s probably out of your price range.” The woman snidely told Kasey.

“You’re lucky you look hot as balls in that skirt. So I’m going to let that one slide.” Kasey waved a flippant hand at the woman and then walked over to me. “You sure this is Nik’s favorite shit? It’s ugly as fuck and the price of a car. It looks like someone shit Shakespeare font all over the side of it.”

“Maybe
your
car,” the sales lady muttered and walked back over to the counter.

Kasey’s head whipped around. “She’s got ‘tude. And a hot ass. I’m gonna make her hum ‘Louis Vuitton’ on the ol’ clitty bean later.”

“Can you focus? This was your idea. You’re going to get us kicked out, and this is the only place that sells Nik’s favorite shit.” I scowled but wanted to laugh. She was so going to turn that sales lady out later.

“Fine, Braden. Fuckin’ A, sir. You’re lucky I like you.” Kasey walked over to the counter. Though she was the most vulgar person in the entire store, she was also likely the hottest. Tall for a girl, and with blonde hair that plenty of women would kill for, she had a graceful body but a sailor’s mouth. I hoped she would turn on the charm and make the entire process smoother.

She leaned against the counter. “What’s your name, my pretty?”

The sales lady glanced up. “Gwen.” Her tone warmed a bit.

Kasey leaned closer to her, almost conspiratorially. “Lookie here, lovely Gwen. I apologize, for, you know, making fun of your fancy-ass bags, and the name of your store, and a number of other transgressions I’ve yet to commit. But here’s the thing—my friend over there—” she tilted her head toward me, “—he looks like a derelict, hobbling around like a homeless ass-bag. But, he’s actually a Major League baseball player who just doesn’t know how to dress properly. He had a split with his woman, and he’s trying to get her back. Can you help us pick something?” Kase moved closer and whispered something magical, because Gwen’s cheeks turned pink before she smiled and walked over to me.

Kasey followed behind her and gave me a thumbs up with a giant smile plastered across her face.

Gwen’s heels clacked against the tile floor. I glanced around, wondering what the price of all the bags in the store would add up to.