“Maybe I should call you Speed Demon instead of ‘babe.’”
“Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe you should just call me Leighton.” She gave him a sweet smile.
Maybe what he wanted was to call her his.
* * *
CLEAVAGE.
Leighton laughed when she read the text from Axl as she stood in the dressing room of a loc
al bridal shop the next day.
NO.
“What’s so funny, sweetie?” the bridal attendant, whose name was June, asked her.
“My fiancé wants my dress to have cleavage.”
June, who was in her sixties and wore a perpetual frown, shook her head. “Men are pigs.”
Leighton was starting to think her mother had been right. She had wanted to have a gown flown in from LA but Leighton had thought it would be good PR to use a local shop. But June, the bridal shop employee, was the equivalent of the weather pattern they called June Gloom in LA. Cold and completely lacking in sunshine. This woman just didn’t appear to enjoy her job because she had a serious attitude.
She also seemed to be a man hater.
Which was a buzz kill even for a fake wedding.
Leighton wished she had a friend with her.
But in a way, she did. Axl had been texting her nonstop.
He thought that he really was deserving of the stupid Ice Man nickname, but he wasn’t. He was funny in a very dry way.
Send me a pic.
Leighton amused herself by sending him a picture of June, picking through the racks.
Axl sent her back an emoji with its tongue sticking out.
She laughed again.
June shot her an annoyed look over her shoulder. Leighton had yet to even try a gown on, she’d been there all of six minutes, and June clearly wanted her to disappear. It was time to take charge of the appointment.
She was good at making quick decisions and sorting through bullshit to get results. It was her job. She came by her nickname honestly. Taking a selfie blowing a kiss, she sent it to Axl. He texted back immediately.
You are so cute.
It gave her butterflies. Fucking butterflies.
“Where are your sweetheart necklines on a mermaid gown?” If Axl wanted cleavage, he was getting cleavage.
June looked at her blankly.
Determined not to be annoyed, she gave her a smile. “I’ll just look around.”
She knew her way around a bridal shop. Usually dresses were grouped by designer then displayed by style, but this shop seemed to have just unpacked stock and stuck it anywhere on the racks. Maybe there wasn’t a high demand for wedding gowns in Beaver Bend. That seemed unlikely but she had no data. This just wasn’t standard operating procedure in her experience.
After twenty minutes of pushing and shoving at dresses on the racks to see each dress, she realized two things. One, she needed to take her fitness more seriously because her arms were killing her. Two, this was an epic fail. Nothing was current or in style.