On My Knees (Stark International Trilogy 2)
Page 68I shrug. “It’s not every man who’d invite his friends to his community service.”
Jackson chuckles. “I’m not every man.”
“No,” I agree. “You definitely aren’t.”
“Plus, I thought it would be a good time for you to meet them.”
“Yeah?” I pull him in for a kiss, which he enthusiastically returns before taking the pink toddler outfit to the counter and asking the clerk to hold it while we continue shopping.
“And what about you?” Jackson asks Cass as he heads toward the men’s racks.
“Oh, now that Zee and I broke up, I’m back to my regular costume. I wear it every year,” she explains.
“You should mix it up,” I say.
“What costume?” Jackson is looking between the two of us, clearly intrigued.
“I wear a skirt and a blouse and I ogle the men. It’s hilarious.”
“Fair enough. But if you don’t need a costume, why’d you come shopping with us?”
“What? And miss the chance to help that one pick out something seriously hot?” She points to me, then holds up her hands in a gesture of self-defense as Jackson raises his brows. “For your enjoyment only, of course. I’ll be ogling the straight boys, remember?” She flutters her eyelashes, clearly working hard to look innocent.
She turns to me. “Speaking of, why don’t you convince him to go as Superman? Man of Steel, right? And I have a feeling he’d look seriously fine in tights.”
Jackson laughs. “Ogling men. Me in tights. Are you certain you’re gay?”
She snorts. “Just because I don’t want to sample the merchandise doesn’t mean I don’t recognize quality when I see it.” She turns to face me. “You appreciate a woman’s tits, right?”
“I am so not having this conversation.” I look to Jackson for help, but he only shrugs.
“Don’t look at me. I definitely appreciate a woman’s tits.”
“Your tits,” he says quickly. “Only yours.”
My effort to find a witty comeback is thwarted by Cass’s enthusiastic cries of “Oh! Oh!”
She’s moved a few rows over, and now she thrusts a cutoff leather jacket into the air. “Biker chick! And Jackson can go as a biker. It’s perfect.”
It actually does sound fun. Not to mention comfortable, which is always my big complaint about Halloween costumes.
“Not bad.” Jackson palms my ass and squeezes. “What do you say, baby? Want to be my old lady?”
“Mister, I think that sounds just about perfect.”
Once we have a plan it doesn’t take too long to put together the basics of our costumes. We’re at the register waiting to pay and debating pizza or burgers for lunch when my phone rings.
I have every intention of ignoring it, but when I glance at the caller ID, I see that it’s Reggie Gale, my old boss from my very first real estate job, five years ago in Atlanta. “How are you?” I ask after the preliminaries. “I’m so glad to hear from you. I’ve been meaning to call.”
“You’re in town?” Reggie, I mouth, in response to Jackson’s questioning glance.
“Santa Barbara. But I’m heading down to LA in a bit. Should be there in plenty of time for a drink or a bite if you have the evening free.”
“I’d love it. I’m with Jackson, though. Do you mind if he tags along?”
“Steele? I haven’t seen him since Atlanta. It’ll be like old home week. The two of you. Trent.”
I frown. “Trent? Trent Leiter? Is he coming to dinner?”
Reggie laughs. “No, I just meant I’m seeing old friends. You two in LA. Him up here. I’ve known Leiter since that San Diego project I worked on with Stark right before I hired you.”
I can’t think of any business that Trent has in Santa Barbara, and I make a mental note to ask Rachel on Monday if he’s taken her away for a romantic weekend. That would be a treat for Rachel, who usually works Damien’s desk on weekends. But she’s been covering for me so much lately that Damien gave her the weekend off and staffed his desk with one of the floating secretaries.
We make plans to meet at six-thirty at the wonderful Restaurant at the Getty Center, one of my favorite places in Los Angeles.