Chapter 7 Losing IQ Points Hailey

Chapter 7

Losing IQ Points

Hailey

I used to think of myself as an intelligent, high-functioning human. And when I’m texting with Matt, we have fun and I manage to complete my sentences and avoid drooling on myself.

Yet I spend the first fifteen minutes at the men’s store tripping over my own feet and babbling like a maniac. This man turns me into the village idiot every time I see him.

The problem is that he’s standing in front of the aging tailor in his undies. He’s wearing a pair of skintight boxer briefs in bright orange, and I can see the outline of his perfect ass in all its glory. And his bare legs, the powerful hamstrings tensed for battle.

When I glance into the sizeable triple-panel mirror in front of him, it’s even worse. Powerful thighs and abs that ripple beneath his undershirt. I manage not to check out his package, though it takes some serious effort, and I’m prattling on about the weather to the tailor like an overcaffeinated monkey.

At last, the tailor has all the measurements he needs. Matt is handed a tux shirt, and I expect him to step into a dressing room somewhere to try everything on, but we’re already in the enormous dressing room. So he slips his powerful arms into the shirt right in front of me.

I lose another five IQ points.

The tailor starts firing questions at Matt. Shawl collar jacket or peaked lapels? Satin or grosgrain?

“Hottie?” he cries, a scowl on his face.

That snaps me out of my stupor. I waltz over to the rack and begin to flip through the choices. “I think the shawl collars look a little stuffy. You’ll be more comfortable in a peak.” I push the shawl collar choices aside and study the remaining three jackets. “This velvet is pretty cool, but it’s not versatile enough for you.” It too gets a nudge to the side. “That leaves this.” I hold up a very traditional black tux jacket. “Or the midnight blue. I think the midnight blue is really hot, but if you want to be strictly traditional, go for black.”

He hesitates. “I like the blue. You’re sure that’s not too weird?”

“Let me see.” I whip out my phone and pull up Pinterest. “Here’s Chris Hemsworth wearing one. And wow, Ryan Gosling.” I let out a sigh, because the pictures are so beautiful and my hormone levels are already off the charts.

“Hand it over,” Matt grumbles, still grumpy.

He looks amazing, of course. The tailor brings the matching trousers and fusses over the fit, pinning the trouser cuffs and making notes on his clipboard. Meanwhile, I try not to swallow my tongue. The man in front of me outshines any movie star any day of the week, with his bottomless gray eyes and sleek Nordic features. The rugged jaw looks a little tight today, but for some weird reason, it only adds to his appeal.

I’ve got it bad.

Matt checks his reflection in the mirror. “Sold,” he says. “Let’s move on to the suits.” But of course the tailor needs to do some pinning while Matt glowers.

And then—before I’m ready—he’s stripping off the suit, his broad shoulders emerging from the sleeves. His hand falls to his waist, where he unbuttons the trousers, just like he’s done every night in my dreams for a week.

Swear to God it’s two hundred degrees in this room. Is twenty-nine too young to have hot flashes?

I flip through the suit jackets on the other rack to distract myself. “I’m not sure about this style,” I say to the tailor, holding out a jacket. “Most of what you’ve got here is cut too straight for him. He needs more of a taper from those strapping shoulders to that”—I stop myself before the word delicious pops out—“narrow waist.”

Heat climbs up my neck, and I can feel Matt’s smile even without looking at it.

“Strapping, huh?” he mutters under his breath.

“Miss makes a good point,” the tailor says. “One moment.” He disappears, and then we’re alone.

And he’s in his underwear again.

“Sorry I’m such a grouch,” he says quietly, those gray eyes studying me.

“You’re not so bad.”

He gives me a grateful smile. “The boondoggles aren’t the best part of my job. When I was twenty, I didn’t mind it. The parties were a real eye-opener. All that money in one room, you know?” He reaches out to fiddle with the tailor’s measuring tape where it dangles over a mannequin’s shoulder. “But it gets old.”

“I’ll bet. And you said this was your least favorite event of the year. Not an opera fan, huh?”

“Not in the slightest. And it was supposed to be my night with the girls. So now I have to beg the ex to trade me. That should be fun.”

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head as if to push out the thought. “I like the blue tux, Hottie. It’s a nice change. When I discovered all those moth holes in the black one, it seemed like fate.”

“Why?”

His grin is wry. “I got married in that tux. Kara chose it. So as much as I dislike shopping, it’s probably time for a change.”

“Yeah. I’m still living with stuff I picked out with my ex. Seems stupid to throw away all the nice things we got for our wedding and start over with Walmart replacements. But I have to look at them every day.”

When Jackson moved out, leaving me our apartment and all its furnishings, I think he meant it as a kindness—so I wouldn’t have to search for a place or buy new things. But now I live in a museum of our old life. I still eat my morning cereal out of bowls we chose together at the Eaton Centre. After a shower, I dry off with towels that I bought because he liked that particular shade of blue.

“Have you started dating again?” Matt asks suddenly.

The question takes me completely by surprise. “No, actually. This is going to sound really weird…”

He gives me a shy smile. “Maybe you’re just not ready?”

“It’s more like…I don’t even know how it works. I’ve never been on a date.”

His eyebrows lift. “You mean, not for years?”

“No. Not ever. Jackson and I were pals forever. Then we were a couple. One day in high school, he kissed me instead of hugging me goodbye. And that was that. It was more than a decade ago. I’ve never been asked out. I’ve never gone to dinner and a movie with someone I haven’t known my whole life. Small talk and protocol and first kisses? I’ve only seen it in movies.”

I should probably shut up now, because I sound pathetic even to my own ears, and Matt is staring at me the way you’d look at an alien being. He grins suddenly. “And I thought I’d been off the market a long time.”

“I’m just here to make you feel better,” I tell him. And now I’m self-conscious again.

The tailor returns with several suit jackets, and I convince Matt that the gray one is the best choice. “The cut looks great, and…” It’s really hard to give this man fashion advice without panting on him.

“And? Finish the sentence. Because Kara told me I should never wear gray.”

“Really?” I smooth down the lapels because my hands itch to touch him. “Was she the jealous type?” I lift my eyes to his, and I’m clobbered by the reality of how close our bodies are.

“Sometimes. Why?”

“Because gray really makes your eyes pop. You look great in this color.”

“Thank you, Hottie,” he says gruffly. “It’s been a long time since anyone said something like that to me.”

“Well.” I get trapped for a second in his steady gaze. “Someone should.”

The tailor clears his throat, and I take a quick step backward.

And since Matt has made his choices, there’s no more reason for me to stay. I make my excuses and get the heck out of there.