The Shape Of My Heart. Ann AguirreЧитать онлайн книгу.
bad because I totally scoped out his chest and abs before I caught myself. The dark, trailing ink of an intriguing tattoo curled over his ribcage and under the white fabric. Surprise flared when I realized I wouldn’t mind pulling his shirt all the way off and checking out his ink. That’s...inconvenient. Eyes up. Raising my brows, I pretended I didn’t know what his problem was.
“I can’t find my tie.”
“If you need one, we’ll stop somewhere on the way, okay? I’ll pick it out.” That was meant as both a bribe and a distraction.
“Okay. I think I saw a menswear shop not too far from the funeral home.”
Nodding, I grabbed my purse and followed him out of the small suite that belonged to us for the next couple of days. The bike was around back, so we went out that way, much less picturesque than the front, especially with the Dumpsters nearby, but since it hadn’t been stolen, I counted that a win. On the way, we stopped for fast-food breakfast sandwiches and ate them next to the motorcycle, which he parked in a metered spot outside the clothing store. Silently I dropped in a quarter, taking in his tiredness and the shadows beneath his eyes. The cheap safety razor did a piss-poor job on his dark scruff, so his face was patchy, particularly on his chin.
“Can’t take your eyes off me, huh? I get a lot of that.”
“I’m sure you do.” The circumstances made me gentle, but he surprised me by blushing.
“Okay, it freaks me out when you’re nice to me.”
“Can you put up with it for two more days?”
He smiled. “I’ll manage.”
Once we finished breakfast, I pushed into the cramped store to the jingle of customer-announcing bells. A gray-haired man came out of the backroom, wilting a little when he saw us. I guessed we didn’t look like big spenders, and since Max only needed a tie, his radar was working fine. But he still smiled, which spoke well of his customer service skills.
“Anything I can help you find?”
I shook my head, leading the way over to a small table with ties laid out in a fan. “Are there any colors you hate passionately?”
“Lime green.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you anyway.”
“How about this one?” Pulling a red, white, gray and black plaid one out of the pile, I held it up against his white shirt. Since he was wearing plain gray trousers, I thought it worked.
Max didn’t look too sure. “Isn’t it a little...”
“What?”
“Burberry. You know, designer-asshole-looking.”
“This isn’t the same pattern, but if you don’t like it—”
“Do you?”
“What?”
“Like it.”
I smirked up at him. “Well, the one you had on before was a pimp-city special. The only way it could’ve been worse is if it had palm trees and glitter.”
“Fine, I’ll take this one. Obviously I have bad taste in dress clothes.” From his sulky tone, he thought his old tie was awesome.
“Jackets are sixty percent off,” the salesman tried. “With your build, I have plenty of blazers that would look great on you.”
To my surprise, Max turned to me with a half frown. “Do you think I should I get one?”
“Do you trust me to dress you?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
So I plucked a black blazer off the rack in his size, along with a thin cloud-gray sweater-vest. “Put it all on, including the tie.”
He scowled, but he didn’t protest, though I had to adjust the vest, unfastening the bottom button to show off his belt. Max fumbled at the tie until I took over, remembering with a knot in my throat how I used to do this for Eli, too. When Max shrugged into the jacket, the transformation amazed me.
“You’re staring. Is it that bad?” Whirling, he studied himself in the mirror. “Holy shit.”
“You look like you’re about to have your picture shot for a men’s magazine.” No question, he had the lean build they preferred.
“I’d rather someone actually shot me.” But as Max’s dark gaze met mine in the mirror, a tiny smile curved his mouth. “Thanks. I want to look nice today. Prove everybody wrong.”
“Both the blazer and vest are on sale,” the salesman said. “The tie isn’t.”
“We’ll take all three. Can you cut the tags off before he comes up with a reason why not? He’ll wear the clothes out.”
Max grumbled as he followed me to the register. While the guy rang things up, I sent him off on a fool’s errand to look at handkerchiefs so I could ninja-pay. By the time he got back, I was already signing the receipt. His brows shot up.
“What the hell, Kaufman.”
“There’s no time to argue. The service starts in ten minutes.”
As expected, that motivated him; he rushed out of the shop and was starting the bike by the time I hopped on behind him. Wrapping my arms about his waist, I settled in, leaning my cheek against his back. Though I’d never admit it, this was the best part of the trip. I loved holding on to him, his stomach hot and taut beneath my curled fingers. Just out of the shower, Max smelled soapy clean, overlaid by the new smell of his jacket.
The funeral home was only five minutes away, and he parked close to the building. I suspected I hadn’t heard the last of this impulse-shopping spree, but Max had the sense to defer it. We slipped into the chapel as the minister walked slowly toward the podium at the front, pressing hands and smiling at familiar faces. I sat down in the back, expecting Max would join his family up front. Instead he nudged me to move over, granting him the chair on the aisle.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, but the ceremony was sedate. The minister gave a touching talk about meeting in the next life; there were three musical interludes and a very old man went to the microphone on a walker to talk about Max’s granddad. A few people sniffled but nobody cried. That seemed like the watermark of how nice you were in life. If people seemed okay with your passing, then you probably had some karmic restitution coming. Well, provided that the Hindus were right about reincarnation. Eli was a good guy. He might be somebody’s beloved new baby by now. How I wished I believed that. Certainty would be comforting.
While I was thinking about how awesome it would be to come back as a house cat, the service ended. Everyone filed up to say farewell, but I hung back. Max nodded, probably not understanding my hesitance, but he was good at picking up cues. Michael was one of the first through the line, and I smiled when he rolled toward me.
“Hey. Sorry about last night. I was really rude.”
“You and Max have some stuff to work out. I get it.”
“We do. But you and I don’t.” Okay, I definitely wasn’t imagining the flirty grin; I’d watched Max unleash it to devastating effect all through college. “You said you’re not his girlfriend, right?”
“We’re roommates, actually. You should come visit sometime.” After I said it, I realized we were on the second floor, and Michael seemed fiercely independent.
“Are you from Michigan originally?”
“Chicago. It was quite a culture shock. I didn’t even drive when I graduated.” The L took me everywhere I wanted to go since I had no reason to venture into the ’burbs.
“And that was when?”
“Are you seriously asking how old I am?” Reluctant amusement sparked a smile, one that Michael returned with interest.
“I’m