Page 103 of Making the Save
Syd, however, looked like she was in her natural element. She wore baggy torn jeans I’d never seen and a belly shirt that made her look like a teenager. Made me feel like a teenager. Her dark hair was styled so all the flyaway curls were gone and she wore dark mascara and bright red lipstick.
She looked like someone famous.
Since getting back to her place in Malibu, I’d been staying in her guest room. Alone.
It went unsaid, but being back in reality, away from the cabin, sleeping together didn’t feel right anymore. It wouldn’t help with us getting to the end, and we both knew it was coming.
Still, every night I almost wished for the return of her stalker just so I could see her in her sleep shorts and baggy shirt again.
“You can’t just put on a designer tux and call it a day,” Francine said. “This is a music award show. These people are artists.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a hockey player.”
“Sydney, please talk to your man.”
The studio we were in looked like converted industrial space. One big open room with tons of tables covered in silks, taffetas, ruffles and any number of sparkling things. There was a legit sewing machine set up in one corner and two mannequin shapes. One for a man, the other for a woman.
“I would,” Sydney said, glued to her phone. Another thing that was so different from cabin Sydney. I wondered if she was really busy or if she was using her phone to hide from me. “But he’s pretty intractable.”
Francine watched me with narrowed eyes and tapped her chin. I was suddenly terrified.
“You know, I’ve seen some of your brother’s fits online,” she said, throwing out all the stops to try and get me to agree to her clothes. “Liam straight up slays.”
“I only need aminuteslay,” I told her. “Syd’s the star here. I’m just background dressing.”
“Hmm. Minute slay, like you even know what that means.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Then there’s nothing to be done. We’ll forget custom, dress him in Armani and call it a day.”
“That’s fine,” Syd agreed.
“Let me just confirm your ridiculous measurements again, hockey player.”
Francine ran a tape measure across my wing span, my waist length, then my inseam.
I tensed up when her knuckles grazed my ball sack through my jeans.
“Don’t be shy now,” she said, “If you want the suit to fit you properly, you need accurate measurements.” I stared at the ceiling while getting woman-handled. Francine was all business until she turned to Sydney and let out a low appreciative whistle.
Syd giggled. “I know, right?”
“Hey,” I barked. “I’m standing right here.”
“In all your glory,” Francine mused. Then she wrapped up the tape. “We’re done.”
“You think they’ll have a suit ready by Sunday night?” Sydney asked.
“They’ll just modify something they have. No one ever wants the boring suits, so they’ll have plenty in stock. I assume you’d prefer black.”
“I can do a blue suit on special occasions,” I pointed out. I wasn’t completely without fashion.
“Bold,” Francine snorted. “Now, Sydney, you want to try on the magic I made for you?”
“You made it?” I asked.
“I do custom work when the spirit moves me. Mostly I curate other designers. But I had a vision for Sydney here and I wentwith it. Behind that partition.” Francine pointed to an old school dressing screen set up in the corner of the room.
Syd clapped her hands excitedly and ran behind the screen. I imagined her taking her clothes off, wondered what she would leave on or off. Wondered what would happen if I went back there with her and got down on my knees to remind her of what we’d had.
Did she miss sleeping with me like I missed her?