Keep Coming Back To Love. Christa Maurice

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СКАЧАТЬ going to study fashion merchandising in college.” Not only was he hot, he was warm. Lean and firm. Might be the clothes, might be the boy in them, but he had charisma.

      “You’re in college?”

      “No, but after I graduate.” She licked her lips. Once Jody took care of his hair and Gina got his skin straightened out, he’d be way beyond cute. “So I called my friend and she’s calling out the cavalry to get you set up. We’ve got the visual end covered, but can you sing?”

      He smiled slowly and then sang Foo Fighters’ “My Hero” with a surprisingly deep voice that caressed her skin like high-quality suede. As he trailed off, he leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. It should have been suave, but he flinched when he touched her and his hands were shaking, which made it adorable instead. “What do you think?”

      “Wow.” Candy swallowed so her voice would quit squeaking. “Jody works in the salon upstairs. Why don’t you go take that stuff off and I’ll see what I can do as far as tailoring your shirt and drop it off on my break.” Which meant the last twenty minutes until her break were going to be spent pulling the thread out of the seams without breaking it so she could use it to stitch this shirt by hand and hoping no other customers showed up. This burnout had a lot more to him than miles of flannel and half destroyed oversized jeans. His little hesitation when he touched her sold it. He had some confidence, but not too much. How could a girl not go for that?

      He tightened his grip on her arms. His hands were sweaty, but hers were too at this point. “You’d do that for me?”

      “You’re taking me out to dinner when you get into this band. Don’t forget.”

      He leaned in again. “You gonna dress me all the time?”

      “You bet.” She rose up on her toes to close the distance he was hesitating over. “Go on. The sooner I get my hands on this shirt, the sooner I’ll be done.” Measurement. Damn, if she didn’t know how much to take it in he was either going to be swimming or cased like a sausage. She measured the extra fabric with her fingers. Oh gawd, his name. She didn’t even know his name yet. “Hey, what’s your name?”

      “Tyler.” He leaned in for another kiss but changed direction to her cheek and tried to cover it by giving her arms a squeeze. Another thing she needed to work on with him, confidence. If he was going to front the hottest band in the area, he needed to have the confidence to charm Satan into doing good deeds.

      He had the clothes back out in a few minutes, paid, and headed for the salon. After he left, Candy leaned against the desk. Lots of guys hit on her here. Some of them she’d even dated. She’d never let one kiss her though. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to have let him use his mother’s credit card, but if he was going to steal a credit card, he’d have gone for Master Card, Mr. Visa or Ms. Discover, not a department store card that confined him to a place mainly catering to up and coming professionals, soccer moms, and blue-haired old ladies.

      Candy shook herself. She had a little more than an hour between now and the end of her break to take in the seams on this shirt and deliver it. With more time and a sewing machine, she’d have deconstructed the whole thing, but she’d never figured out how to fit her sewing machine into her purse. If she had, she could have made a lot more money and a lot more sales for the store, tailoring between customers.

      The phone rang. “Who do you think I am, Doug Henning?”

      “Jody, if anybody can make him look good, it’s you.” Candy picked the first side seam out and smoothed the fabric out on the desk. If she could take it in enough at the waist, the stripes would make it look like he had shoulders. A gym. The boy needed a gym desperately.

      “Then nobody can make this dork look good.”

      “Trust me. All he needs is the visual and that dork will be a swan.”

      “To get a swan you have to start with some kind of bird. You sent me a daddy longleg spider.”

      Daddy longleg spider? He didn’t look like a spider. Tyler was adorable and sweet and pretty damn charming already. With a little work, well, Jon Bon Jovi had better start thinking about his pension. “Ask him to sing for you.”

      “I’m going to have to take two inches off to get rid of the split ends. I think he’s been washing his hair with bar soap.”

      “Ask him to sing.” Candy searched the desk. Somebody must have thrown out the pins she was hoarding. Paper clips would have to do.

      “Fine. I’ll see what I can do, but Gina’s freaking out. His skin looks like he’s been beaten with a bag of nickels. A dirty bag.”

      Ouch. No fair. They better not be saying this stuff in front of him. It wouldn’t do anything for his confidence. “So you can start by washing his face. I’ll be up there in a little while with his clothes. I have to do a little alteration for him.”

      “Fine. He’s out of wash anyway. See ya.”

      Candy hung up the phone and went to work on the shirt.

      “Hi there. I didn’t know you did alterations here.”

      Candy glanced up. Middle aged Romeo starting to gray. He’d be good for at least a hundred bucks. “Well, only for very special customers. Can I help you find something?” She arched a little to show off the assets without pausing in her tailoring.

      “Maybe you can. Unless you’re busy.”

      “I can multitask.”

      “Okay. I need a couple of new shirts for work. My wardrobe is looking stagnant and the clients are starting to drift.”

      “Really? What do you do?” Candy tucked her needle away. She had time. Even if she had to skip dinner, she could have one shirt done by the time Jody was finished.

      “Advertising and public relations.”

      “So you need something fresh.” She walked around the desk editing her original assessment of his potential. If he needed a new look for work, she might get him for a couple hundred, which would secure her lead over that bitch in juniors. “Let’s see what we can do.”

      Forty-three minutes later, Candy skidded through the doors of the salon. Tyler sat in a chair with highlight foils on his hair, green goo on his face, and a copy of People magazine in his hands, chatting with the little old lady next to him.

      Jody shuffled over, slouching as though she’d been breaking rocks all day. “I am a miracle worker. Next time you want me to rescue somebody, give me six months’ lead time so I can trim and style over time instead of doing damage control.”

      “I’ll do my best.”

      “He’s got an amazing voice though. He had the old cow in the chair next to him about in tears because he sang ‘Moon River.’”

      “Good, good.” Candy headed for the chair. “How’s it going, Tyler?”

      “Great. This is fantastic. I thought I’d be buying a shirt or something today.”

      “You need to look good for your big audition.” The lady next to him patted his hand. “He’s going to be famous. I know it. You better hang onto him, young lady.”

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