Chapter 19: Retail Torture
The morning light was different in his apartment. It fell in long, lazy angles across the floorboards, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and the scattered evidence of their night. Andi’s dress was a puddle of black fabric near the door, one of his t-shirts swallowed her frame, and the silence was a comfortable, shared thing.
Matt watched her from the kitchen, pouring coffee into two chipped mugs. She was curled on his sofa, knees tucked under her chin, scrolling through her phone with a small, private smile. He saw her wince slightly as she shifted, a faint reminder of the vanity, the stairwell, the frantic, wonderful collision of the hours before.
“You good?” he asked, bringing the mugs over.
She took one, her fingers brushing his. “Mmm. Just a little… aware of my muscles.” Her eyes, bright and teasing, met his over the rim of the cup. “You?”
“I’m good.” He sat beside her, the cushion dipping, pulling her closer. He nodded at her phone. “World still turning?”
“Barely. Chloe texted. She asked if we vanished into a wormhole.”
“What’d you say?”
“I said we found a better party.” She took a sip of coffee, then leaned her head against his shoulder. “This is nice.”
It was. It was too nice. The quiet domesticity of it felt more intimate than anything they’d done last night. This was the dangerous part, the part that could get complicated. He pushed the thought away, focusing on the weight of her against him, the scent of his own soap on her skin.
“So,” she said after a moment, her voice casual. “I have to go to this stupid bridal boutique appointment today. For my cousin’s wedding. Moral support.”
He made a noncommittal sound, his hand finding its way to the back of her neck, his thumb stroking the soft hair there.
“You should come.”
He stilled. “To a bridal boutique.”
“It’ll be boring. And my aunt will be there. You can be my… human shield.” She tilted her head back to look at him, her expression all innocent pleading. “Please? I’ll owe you.”
He knew this game. He’d seen her play it with her brother a hundred times. But coming from her, here, now, it felt different. It felt like a test. “You’re exploiting my weaknesses.”
“Is it working?”
He sighed, a defeated, fond sound. “What time?”
---
The boutique was a shock to the system after the muted tones of his apartment. All plush, ivory carpet and crystal chandeliers, the air thick with the cloying sweetness of expensive perfume and hushed, serious voices. Gowns of satin and lace hung like ghosts along the walls.
Matt felt like a bull in a china shop, his worn boots out of place on the pristine carpet. Andi’s aunt, a sharp-faced woman named Carol, had already looked him up and down twice, her smile not reaching her eyes.
“This is Matthias,” Andi had said, her hand finding his and squeezing, a quick, secret pulse. “A friend.”
He’d just nodded, letting the label hang there.
Now, he stood near a gilded full-length mirror, hands in his pockets, while Andi was ushered into a changing room by a sleek, efficient sales associate named Elise. He watched her go, the denim of her jeans and simple tank top a rebellion in this temple of tradition.
A few minutes later, the curtain rustled and Andi stepped out. She was wearing a sleek, column-like dress in a shade of deep emerald. It was simple, elegant, and hugged every curve.
“Wow, Andi, that’s stunning!” Carol chirped from a velvet chaise lounge.
Andi turned to the mirror, a critical pout on her lips. “It’s a little tight across the hips, don’t you think?” She shifted, and as she did, she caught Matt’s eye in the reflection. Her gaze held his for a beat too long, a spark of mischief igniting in the depths of her pupils.
Then she turned back to Elise. “You know, I think I might need the next size up. Just to compare.”
“Of course,” Elise said, gliding away toward the racks.
The moment the associate was out of earshot, Andi turned her back to her aunt and looked directly at Matt. Her expression was a mask of innocent inquiry, but her eyes were blazing with a silent, daring challenge. She mouthed a single, clear word.
Now.
His breath hitched. He understood instantly. The memory of the Uber, of her whispered ‘five minutes is a long time’, flashed through him. This was her game. A continuation. A escalation.
He gave her a slow, almost imperceptible nod. His hand, still in his pocket, found the small, discreet remote. He’d slipped it in there this morning on a whim, a joke he wasn’t sure he’d have the nerve to play. He pressed the button.
Andi’s entire body went rigid. A sharp, silent gasp caught in her throat. Her knuckles, where she gripped the fabric of the dress, turned white. She stared at her own reflection, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushing a deep, tell-tale pink.
Elise returned, holding a larger size of the green dress. “Here we are. Let’s see if this gives you a bit more room to breathe.”
Andi didn’t move. She was frozen, a statue of forced composure. The soft, persistent hum was a private earthquake only they could feel.
“Andi?” Carol asked, her voice laced with a hint of confusion. “Are you alright? You look flushed.”
“I’m… I’m fine,” Andi managed, her voice strained. She cleared her throat. “It’s just a little warm in here.”
Matt leaned against the wall, the picture of casual indifference, but his heart was hammering against his ribs. He watched the delicate tremor in her hands, the way she pressed her thighs together ever so slightly. She was fighting a war on two fronts: against the relentless vibration inside her and against the smile threatening to break across her face.
She finally took the new dress from Elise with a jerky, uncoordinated movement. “I’ll… just try this one on.”
She practically fled behind the curtain. Matt let his thumb off the button. The immediate tension in the room dissipated, leaving only the faint, sweet perfume and his own roaring pulse.
From behind the curtain, he heard a muffled thump, followed by a choked, breathless laugh. He could picture her, leaning against the wall, hand over her mouth, her body still vibrating with the aftershocks.
A moment later, her head popped out from the curtain. Her hair was slightly mussed, her eyes brilliantly alive. She looked only at him, ignoring her aunt and the waiting associate completely.
“You,” she whispered, her voice a mix of accusation and awe. “You are the worst.”
He just raised his coffee mug in a small, silent toast, his expression neutral but his eyes alight with a predatory satisfaction. The game was far from over. He could feel it.
He could feel it. The air in the boutique thickened, charged with a secret current that only the two of them shared. Andi emerged from the changing room in the larger size, the emerald fabric hanging slightly looser, but her composure was clearly still held together by a thread. She avoided his eyes, focusing instead on her aunt and Elise with a strained smile.
“This one is better,” she said, her voice a little too high. “Much more comfortable.”
She turned slowly before the mirror, a performance for her audience. Her movements were careful, measured, as if she were walking on a wire. Matt watched the elegant line of her neck, the way her breath shallowed. His thumb rested idly on the remote in his pocket, a king with a dormant weapon.
“It’s a beautiful fit,” Elise commented, circling her to adjust the hem.
Carol nodded in agreement. “Just perfect on you, honey.”
Andi’s eyes finally flickered to Matt’s in the mirror. They were dark pools of challenge and pleading, a silent conversation passing between their reflections. Her lips parted slightly. He saw the quick, nervous dart of her tongue. He gave her a slow, almost imperceptible smile.
Then he turned it on again.
Her reaction was instantaneous and utterly visceral. A sharp, choked gasp escaped her before she could smother it into a cough. Her body jolted as if touched by a live wire, one hand flying to the mirror to steady herself. The carefully constructed illusion of a calm bride-to-be shattered.
“Andi?” Carol’s voice was sharp with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” she squeaked, her knuckles white against the glass. “A… a leg cramp. Sudden.” She bent over, pretending to stretch her calf, but the position only intensified the sensation. A shudder wracked her frame.
Matt remained leaning against the wall, the picture of detached calm. “You should probably sit down,” he suggested, his voice even and laced with false concern.
She shot him a look that could curdle milk, her face a magnificent canvas of fury and overwhelming pleasure. “I’m fine,” she ground out, straightening up with visible effort. Every muscle in her body was taut, fighting a war against the relentless, hidden rhythm.
Elise looked on, professionally puzzled. “Perhaps we should try a different silhouette? Something less constricting?”
“Yes,” Andi breathed, the word tight and desperate. “Something. Else.”
She practically staggered back behind the changing room curtain, yanking it closed with a frantic rustle. The second she was out of sight, Matt released the button. He could hear her rapid, panting breaths from behind the fabric, the soft thud of her forehead resting against the wall.
He waited a beat, then stepped closer to the curtain. “Everything okay in there?” he asked, his voice low and for her alone.
The curtain was suddenly wrenched aside. Andi stood there, still in the emerald dress, her chest heaving. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were wild. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into the small, enclosed space with her and yanking the curtain shut behind them.
The space was intimate, filled with the scent of her perfume and the rustle of expensive gowns. “You,” she whispered, her voice raw and shaking, her body still trembling from the aftershocks. “You are going to pay for that.”
“Is that a promise?” he murmured, his hands finding her hips, pulling her against him.
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed violently on the plush bench. Chloe’s name flashed on the screen, followed by two more rapid buzzes. The real world was insistently knocking, its timing, as always, impeccably bad.
Andi stared at the phone, then back at him, her conflict a physical presence in the tiny room. The party, her friends, the uncomplicated life she was supposed to be living—it was all right there, buzzing in her hand. Matt watched her, saying nothing, letting the choice hang entirely in her hands.
She reached for the phone, her fingers hovering over the screen.
She reached for the phone, her fingers hovering over the screen. The buzzing was an insistent drill breaking into their private bubble. With a shaky exhale, she tapped the screen, her eyes scanning the messages quickly.
Her expression shifted, the raw heat in her eyes cooling into something more complicated. "Chloe's freaking out," she murmured, her thumb scrolling. "She thinks we had a fight or something because we left so fast."
She looked from the phone to him, the emerald gown suddenly feeling like a costume. "She says everyone was asking about us." The real world, with all its expectations and questions, was flooding back in, and he could see her mentally scrambling for footing.
He watched the internal struggle play out across her face, the way her teeth worried her bottom lip. Then, with a decisive click of her tongue, she began typing, her thumbs flying over the screen. “Just text Chloe that we wanted to turn in a little earlier than everybody else,” she muttered, narrating her own message as she typed it.
She showed him the screen before hitting send. It was a masterpiece of casual deflection. He gave a single, approving nod. The message whooshed away, a tiny life raft sent back to the world they’d abandoned.
The relief was short-lived. The sharp, distinct cadence of her aunt’s heels on the plush carpet sounded right outside the curtain, growing closer. “Andi? Everything alright in there? You’re taking an awfully long time.”
Andi’s eyes widened in genuine panic. The curtain was the only thing separating them from a conversation that would have no good explanation. “Fine, Aunt Carol! Just… a tricky zipper!”
“Well, let me help you.”
Matt didn’t need to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he dropped into a crouch, his large frame folding into the space between the wall and the bench, concealed by the long, hanging hem of the emerald gown. The air under the bench was close and smelled of carpet fiber and Andi’s perfume.
The curtain rings scraped back. He saw Carol’s sensible pumps step onto the small platform. “Goodness, it’s a tight squeeze in here. Now, let’s see this zipper.”
Andi’s body was a rigid pillar in front of him. He could feel the heat coming off her skin, see the subtle tremor in her calves. “It’s really okay, I got it.”
“Nonsense. Turn around.”
There was a rustle of fabric as Andi complied. Matt held his breath, his shoulder pressed against the wall. From his vantage point, he saw Carol’s hand reach for the zipper at the small of Andi’s back. The dress loosened slightly.
“See? Nothing a little patience can’t fix.” Carol’s voice was smug. Her feet didn’t move. “So. This Matthias. He’s very… quiet.”
“He’s just being supportive.” Andi’s voice was strained.
“Supportive of what, exactly? He’s not family.” The words hung in the perfumed air, a not-so-subtle challenge. Matt felt a familiar, cold anger stir in his gut, but he remained perfectly still, a statue in the shadows.
“He’s my friend,” Andi said, her tone finally gaining some steel. “That’s what matters.”
A long, assessing silence followed. Then Carol sighed. “Well. Don’t dally. We have three more appointments after this.” The pumps finally turned and stepped away. The curtain swished shut, leaving them in tense, breathless silence once more.
They waited until the sound of her heels faded completely. Andi’s shoulders slumped. She reached back, a blind search, and her fingers found his hair, tangling in it for a moment, a silent thank you and an apology all in one. He turned his head, pressing a kiss into her palm.
She slowly sank onto the bench, her legs brushing against his crouched form. He could see her face now, pale and furious. “I’m going to kill her,” she whispered, the words barely audible.
He just looked up at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Later.” He reached out and traced the line of her knee. “You still have to pay me back, remember?”
A genuine, surprised laugh burst from her, quickly stifled by her hand. She looked down at him, crouched like a fugitive in a bridal salon, and the absurdity of it all melted her anger away. Her smile was a brilliant, stolen thing.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered, her voice full of fondness.
He held her gaze, the world outside the curtain forgotten again. “You started it.”
He stayed crouched there, a secret in the perfumed dark, his hand a steadying warmth on her bare ankle. Her laughter faded into the sound of their breathing, a synchronized rhythm in the cramped space. The buzz of her phone, the clipped tone of her aunt’s voice—it all felt miles away.
“We can’t stay in here forever,” she whispered, though her fingers were still tangled in his hair.
“We could try.”
He rose slowly, his body unfolding from the shadows until he was standing over her. The emerald dress gaped open at her back, revealing the delicate line of her spine. He traced it with one finger, from the nape of her neck down to where the fabric gathered at her waist. She shivered, her eyes closing.
“She’s right, you know,” Andi said, her voice soft. “About you not being family.”
“I know.”
She turned on the plush bench to face him, her expression unreadable. “Is that what this is? Just you being a supportive friend?”
He didn’t answer with words. He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her temples. His gaze was intense, stripping away the joke, the game, the pretense. He saw the question in her eyes, the same one that had been there in his apartment that morning, the one they’d been avoiding for years.
Then he kissed her.
It was nothing like the frantic, hungry kisses from the night before. This was slow. Deliberate. A deep, searching pressure that made the world outside the curtain dissolve into nothing. Her hands came up to grip his wrists, not to pull him away, but to anchor herself.
When he finally broke away, they were both breathless. The air in the small space was charged, alive. He leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed. “Does that answer your question?”
Before she could speak, he reached behind her. His fingers found the zipper of the emerald dress and pulled it up in one smooth, final motion. The sound was decisive. The dress was sealed. “Let’s get out of this tent.”
He slipped back out through the curtain, leaving her alone. She sat there for a long moment, her lips still tingling, her heart a wild drum against her ribs. She looked at her reflection—the flushed cheeks, the swollen lips, the dress that now felt like a lie.
She stood up and yanked the zipper back down.
When she emerged, she held the larger, looser emerald dress draped over her arm. Elise glided over, a practiced smile ready. “Did that one not work for you after all?”
“It was fine,” Andi said, her voice remarkably steady. She pointed to the first dress, the one that had hugged every curve, still hanging on the display. “But I want that one.”
Elise’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “The sample size? It was quite snug, if you recall.”
A slow, sure smile spread across Andi’s face. She didn’t look at Matt, but she felt his gaze like a physical touch. “I recall. That’s the one I’m taking.”
Carol sputtered from her chaise. “Andi, be reasonable. You need to be able to breathe and dance!”
“I can breathe just fine,” Andi said, her eyes finally finding Matt’s across the room. He hadn’t moved, his hands back in his pockets, but the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated triumph. She held his stare, her chin lifted. “In fact, I’ve never breathed better.”