by Keilan Shea
I jump and freeze all at once while Lucas casually turns on his heel. Swallowing, I inch around to do the same. I’m not guilty of anything, but I always act guilty; I can’t handle confrontation. I’m taken aback when a sailor comes into view. No, not a sailor. He has a security-guard badge.
“Hello,” Lucas says pleasantly.
“A man and woman reported two teenagers fitting your descriptions harassing them.”
Lucas gasps. “How awful. If we catch those delinquents, we’ll be sure to tell you, sir.”
The security guard hooks his fingers onto his belt. I anticipate him grabbing his radio, but he doesn’t. “I don’t like your attitude, boy.”
“How would you like me to act? I’ll adapt accordingly.” Lucas clears his throat and straightens, reeling in his arms and legs as if to transform himself into a pole. “How can we assist you, sir? Might I suggest you or a coworker check the security footage? I’m sure you’ll see that this has nothing to do with either of us. We haven’t talked to anyone outside of that gift shop.”
The security guard growls. “Lucas Ignacio, you’re being watched. If you do anything out of line, I will kick you out. It doesn’t matter how much money your father can piss away. This is your only warning.”
“Understood, sir.” Lucas salutes. “Thank you, sir.”
The security guard sniffles and wipes his red nose with his thumb before stomping away.
I release a pent-up breath and lean against a nearby aquarium, feeling lightheaded.
“Whoa, take a few breaths there, Melly Mel. Ralphy scared you, huh?”
“R-Ralphy? You know him?”
“Oh yes.”
“Then what …?”
“He’s just mad because he was the man on duty when I decided to play a game of shoplifting a few summers back. I wanted to test how well he was doing his job because the newbie was a real space cadet. I’m happy to report, after our little altercation, that he’s grown up fine.”
“Y-you what?”
“I donated money to the different shops, paying for every little thing I stole, tax and all. It was all in good fun.”
He’s confessing a crime to me without a care.
“Oh, come now. My story doesn’t warrant that dubious expression. Everyone knows I did it. The donations weren’t anonymous.”
“You didn’t get … reprimanded?” He paid for everything, but the unconventional way he did it is … well, a crime.
Lucas hums. “Yeah, two seconds ago.”
I bite my lip.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything illegal in your presence.”
“And outside of my presence?”
Lucas smirks. “No promises.”
CHAPTER 19
This Nordstrom has four floors and the biggest handbag selection I’ve ever seen—not that I’ve ever sought one out. I’m scared to touch anything. I looked at the outrageous price tag on a designer purse and convinced myself that I’d get arrested for smudging it with my fingerprints.
“Have anything specific in mind, Melly Mel?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“How about we start with the size? Big, medium, or small? That’ll narrow it down some.”
“Small.” I want an unobtrusive purse to carry my phone and wallet, or even just my phone and ID, but I need to buy it, so the price mustn’t exceed my meager savings. I doubt any shop inside Marine Plaza will meet that prerequisite.
An employee wearing a power suit walks toward us, a flowery scent preceding her arrival, but then she sees me and stops. She rolls her eyes and struts in the opposite direction. I check my hair, my glasses, but I know it’s my clothes. I wonder why Lucas hasn’t brought them up or even spared me a disparaging look. I was certain he’d hate them.
“Not into these, are you?” Lucas takes a black leather purse off the rack. It matches his combat boots.
“I’ve never had a handbag. I prefer pockets or my backpack.”
Lucas takes the liberty to flesh out my explanation. “Your uniform is pocketless and your backpack is too clunky to bring everywhere. You likely wouldn’t be admitted into Richter Palace with it either.” Lucas offers the combat-boots purse. “Take this.”
I cautiously do as I’m told. Of course he had to pick a designer purse. This purse is worth one thousand dollars. Sage paid two hundred dollars for a purse once. I couldn’t believe it, but she always did have the most expensive taste in the family. Mama and Papa said nothing because it was her money and her choice. I’d never be able to use a purse that expensive, let alone this one.
Lucas tsks. “If I were into handbags, I’d fucking own that purse, but it doesn’t suit you, lovely.” He reclaims it and hangs it on its rack. It looks better than it did when he took it off. He even starts straightening the handbags near it, ensuring each one is prominently displayed. “What’s your style? What are you into?”
I pinch the hem of my pea-green T-shirt, my new habit. “This, I guess. A comfortable style.”
Lucas steps away from the handbag rack, planting his hands firmly on his narrow hips. “And yet you don’t appear to be all that comfortable.”
“Because … because most people don’t dress like this. Especially here.” I pinch the fabric tighter, stretching out the material. “Aren’t you embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“You think people here like how I dress?” Lucas gestures to himself, hands outlining his strong, handsome figure. I’ve been trying not to look at his arms, but when he’s showing so much skin, it’s hard not to. He must work out. He knows how to shoot a basketball, so maybe he’s sculpted his body by participating in sports? Lucas and I don’t have much in common, but he seeks me out, chooses to hang out with me. Why is that?
“To the clothes,” Lucas says. “We’ll select a purse afterward.”
“I don’t have a lot of—”
“Money isn’t an issue, Melly Mel. I told you already. It’s on me. Or rather, my old man.”
I shift from one foot to the other.
“What’s the problem? You heard Ralphy. My dad has money to piss away.”
I never considered that money could be so disposable, not when I remember having so little. “How do you have so much money?” At the rate Lucas and his father spend it, shouldn’t it be gone by now? “I thought your father lost all of his businesses?”
“Stocks. Savings. Commercial property. Contrary to popular belief, Dad didn’t lead all of his businesses into bankruptcy and therefore Jeffery Earnshaw didn’t buy everything. Dad wised up when he saw his money diminishing and put more capable people in charge. Specifically, he got a new financial advisor and listened to her so that he could maintain and indulge his avarice. He may not be doubling or tripling or whatever it is Jeffery’s been doing to his money, but there it is. Dad bellyaches about it when he’s drunk, though.” Lucas’s smooth voice becomes gruff and he throws his hands up to the heavens as if to address God. “‘I could have had so much more, Lucas, you fucking bastard!’”
I flinch and several people disappear, leaving the store seemingly empty. “He says that to you?”
“Uh.” Lucas blinks. “Oh. Don’t mind me. I get carried away sometimes. He only says that when he’s in a drunken rage, honest. He’s mostly pleasant the one or two times a year I see him.”
“Why would he say that to you?”
“Because it’s true? Melly Mel, really. That’s old news. You’ve never heard that Gordon Ignacio’s only son and heir was born to a whore? The crazy bitch tried to use me to steal all his money, then she disappeared without a trace. I’m lucky I ended up with Dad.”
“I-I had no idea.”
Lucas shakes his head. “What world do you live in and how do I join you?”
“I … I’m not very interested in celebrities. We’re all just people, aren’t we?” And it’s no one’s business. I don’t want anyone to know about Faith Turner or to associate me with her. I don’t even want to remember her.
“Good for y
ou,” Lucas says. “It’s nobody’s race but your own and all that. You’ve got life figured out.” Lucas gestures to an escalator and starts walking. I hesitate but follow him. Unease grows inside of me when we reach the women’s clothing section.
“Lucas, I appreciate the thought—”
“Ah.” Lucas extends his pointer finger as if he intends to seal my lips, but he doesn’t touch me. “Not another word. You want to be comfortable, so let me introduce you to these loose-fitting, but highly fashionable, tops. Soft, lightweight fabric. A variety of cuts and styles. This.” Lucas selects something that resembles a too-short dress. “I want to see you in a tunic top.” He dangles the article of clothing by the hanger, comparing it to me. “Try this one.” Then he tosses it to me and I almost drop it.
This continues, Lucas pulling item after item off the racks and systematically piling them in my arms until I’m afraid they’ll reach so high that I won’t be able to see over them. Then he takes them from me, trading out his paper bag, and says, “To the dressing rooms.”
An employee stops Lucas from carrying the huge load into an empty cubicle, but he replies with a flippant “We’re not animals. Maybe you’re into having sex in public places, but I’m just dropping off her clothes.” The employee slaps her hand over her mouth and I freeze. Unperturbed, Lucas claims an empty cubicle. Less than a minute later, he emerges. “It’s all ready for you, Melly Mel.”
“Go.” The employee waves me on and shrinks away from Lucas, making herself scarce as she attends another customer.
I shuffle to Lucas, head bowed. “Why did you say that?”
“The people who come to Marine Plaza are prudes, and you know how I like to tease. Sometimes it backfires. Other times it’s quite rewarding, such as when it allows me to bypass item limits.” Lucas’s hand trembles. I almost miss it, because he tucks it behind him as if to hide it. He claims a bench and says, “If you like something, pop out and show me. Oh, and if I’m not here, it’s because I couldn’t resist picking out some shoes for you to try on too.”
“O-okay.” I return the paper bag to Lucas.
Once inside the dressing room, I take a breath, because I guess I’m doing this. What should I try first? Lucas hung the items on the dressing room’s various garment hooks in an arrangement more than worthy of being a storefront exhibit. Oh, they’re sorted into outfits. Lucas couldn’t have made this easier for me.
The first outfit I retrieve is a pastel-pink tunic top and a pair of floral leggings. I have no expectations since I’ve never worn anything like either of these items. Well, other than I’m certain the leggings won’t fit, but I’m wrong. They’re snug, but not tight. They exaggerate the curves of my hips and legs somehow. I didn’t know my hips and legs had a shape beyond round. The tunic top is comfy, roomy, but it doesn’t drown me or hide my breasts. The neckline is low. It’s not abnormally low or anything like that, but I’ve only worn crew necks. It’s strange. These clothes weren’t tailored to me, but how they feel kind of reminds me of my Gilded Academy uniform.
I stare at myself in the full-length mirror, trying to gauge how I look. Sighing, I resign myself to the fact that I’ll never be able to properly critique my appearance. I see a difference, but is it an improvement? Well, I’m comfortable, and that’s all I ask for, so I open the door to show Lucas.
He’s waiting on the bench, but he’s hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs, face buried in his hands. When I push the door open a little wider and it lets out a squeak, he perks up and jumps to his feet. He lightly touches his chin and silently inspects me from every angle. Déjà vu. My palms sweat and I resist the urge to wipe them on the tunic top when Lucas’s emerald-green eyes linger on my chest. Maybe they don’t. Maybe I’m too self-conscious.
“I must have a real talent for this.” Lucas steps back and folds his arms. “They fit perfectly. What do you think? Rate them on a scale of one to ten. Ten being ‘the best ever.’”
“Eight? They’re comfortable.”
“Not bad. Do you like how they look on you?”
“Sure.”
“You don’t care.”
I shrug.
“If my opinion matters at all, you’re hot as hell, Melly Mel, and these clothes suit you.”
I sputter, words failing me, and my face bursts into flames. Hot as hell? Me? Lovely, Melly Mel, beautiful …
“Hey now. Chill out.” Lucas fans me with his hands. “Don’t spontaneously combust, yeah? Was it something I said?”
I suck in a shallow breath. “Y-you think I’m ‘hot as hell’?”
“Melody Lopez, don’t take this the wrong way, but you are dense. How much more straightforward can a guy be?”
“B-but you said you just wanted to be friends.”
“And I wasn’t lying.”
I clasp my hands in front of me to stop myself from fidgeting. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand because nothing’s changed. We’re a couple of friends out on the town.”
“Do friends casually call each other lovely and beautiful and hot?”
“If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop and sincerely apologize.”
I squeeze my hands until my finger joints lock up. “This whole time, I convinced myself you were teasing me.”
“Only a little bit. Anyway. If you don’t give a damn about your style, does that mean I have the final say? After you’ve approved of the comfort level, of course.” I pinch the first price tag I can find, but Lucas covers the numbers with his tremulous hand hovering above. “Answer the question.”
“Yes?”
“That sounded like another question. Give me a statement.”
“Y-yes.”
“Good enough. Then this outfit is a yes. Get back in there and designate a space for yeses and noes.”
“Why are you doing this, Lucas?”
“Because you deserve to feel good about yourself.”
My cheeks are roasting and my chest … aches. This handsome, quirky boy cares about me. He genuinely cares. There’s no other explanation for his actions.
CHAPTER 20
Lucas purchases seven new tops, four new bottoms, a couple of pairs of shoes, four headbands, and a leather purse—all for me. On our way to his car, he tells me to get changed in the first bathroom we come across. I do and emerge dressed in the tunic top, floral leggings, and a pair of flats. My unruly curls are tangled up with a white headband that’s mostly material—a lot of material. It’s meant to be tied into some fancy knot, but I’m not sure how to do it. My stomach twists when Lucas sees the mess I’ve made.
“Do you mind?” he says mildly.
“Please.”
Lucas sets the bags on a seashell bench and gets to work. As always, his touch is light, barely there. His mocha-latte scent is pervasive, though, and I breathe in deeper to retain it. My knees weaken and I have this strange urge to squeeze my thighs together. Warmth consumes me, but it’s not the unbearable heat of embarrassment, and it’s not solely the heat stemming from Lucas’s bare skin. I’m not sure what it is.
Lucas frees my hair and ties the headband without pulling a single strand. “There you are.” When he retreats, it’s so cold I have to stifle a shiver.
“What about the tags?” I ask.
Lucas slips his hand into one of the pockets of his checkered pants and produces a cat-shaped pocketknife. He deftly flicks the surprisingly normal blade free with a shink. “I cut them off.”
The blade is small, shiny like a jewel, but it’s dangerous. I shy away because I don’t touch sharp things. My clumsiness is legendary. I almost chopped off my finger once while slicing tomatoes, which is why I’m essentially banned from working at Lobo Azul.
“I won’t cut you,” Lucas assures. “This blade goes nowhere near your skin. You have my word.”
I inch forward, close enough for Lucas to cut the tags as that latent shiver breaks the icy surface of my skin. Lucas’s agile fingers ensure he wields the knife ex
pertly, and, true to his word, he steers it clear of my skin. First, he frees my purse. Next, he plucks the tag scratching my nape, leaving soft fabric to whisper evenly across my skin. The tag on my leggings is hidden underneath my tunic top, but Lucas has no trouble finding and cutting it too. Lastly, he frees my flats.
“And you’re done.” Lucas fans the tags like a magician presenting a card trick, then he tosses them into a coral trash can. He folds the blade of his pocketknife to store it, but it catches on checkered fabric. His hand is shaking again. Worse than before. Eventually, he succeeds and says, “I need food. That’s next on our agenda.”
“Is your blood sugar low?” I ask. “There must be a shop with a banana or raisins or something. I’ll get you—”
“Thanks, but I can wait. I’ve had more than enough of this snooty atmosphere. Let’s go somewhere cozier for dinner.”
“Cozier?”
“Yeah, a little family-friendly restaurant and pub deeper downtown called Niall’s Cottage. There’s live music, usually Irish jigs, in which everyone is encouraged to participate. I hear it’s fun.”
After I transfer my wallet and phone to my new purse, and insist on carrying at least half of my bags, we resume our trek to Lucas’s electric-blue car. Uhm. His Ferrari 488 Spider. Once there, we set my bags in the trunk, and then Lucas opens the passenger door for me. When I’m seated, I say, “I don’t know any Irish jigs and I’m a terrible dancer.”
Lucas shuts the door and walks around the car to seat himself. Rather than immediately starting the engine, he stores his little paper bag inside the organized glove compartment. “Me neither. It’s not my kind of music, but it should be fun to watch. It’s a novelty for both of us!”
“We won’t dance?”
“Not unless you get the bug. Supposedly the energy can be contagious.”
That’s when my purse comes to life. It vibrates in my lap and it takes me a moment to remember that I put my phone inside. Lucas gets the car going but leaves the music off as he navigates the parking garage and I answer Naomi.
“Instead of Zoom,” she says in lieu of a greeting, “do you want us to pick you up tomorrow? We put old Lula down, so you won’t have to worry about getting stranded.”