Her mother pulled a hot-pink Betsey Johnson baby doll dress off the rack. “Try this one.”
Faith shook her head. “I don’t think that’s appropriate for the owner of a hockey team.”
/> “We thought this.” Bo pulled a vibrant red dress with a scoop neckline and full silk skirt. It was sleeveless, and except for the silver metallic leather belt, it looked like something from the fifties.
“It’s very bright.”
“The colors will look great on you.”
She hadn’t worn that color red since she’d married Virgil. “Who picked these out?” she asked the woman, whose auburn hair was pulled back in a stumpy ponytail.
“Jules worked with a stylist, and they chose that one because it will accent the red in Ty’s home uniform.”
Jules? She knew he’d been busy consulting with the PR department, but she’d had no idea he’d helped choose outfits. Despite his unfortunate love of pastels and his ripped muscles, she’d never really gotten the gay vibe from him, but again she had to wonder.
“I’d wondered if he was gay,” Valerie said.
“Me too,” Bo added as she looked through the rack. “He’s very pretty.”
Faith kicked off her pumps as she unbuttoned her blouse. “Being pretty or not is no indication that a man is gay.” One of the gay bouncers at Aphrodite had looked like a rode-hard biker.
“Not always.” Bo took the black blouse from Faith. “Ty Savage is a pretty boy, but you’d never even think to question what he prefers.”
“Or his father.”
Faith looked from her pants zipper to her mother. “You know his father?”
“I met him the other night after the game.”
“You never mentioned it.”
Valerie shrugged. “I wasn’t impressed.”
Which probably meant he hadn’t asked her out. With Bo’s help, she pulled the dress over her head and her mother zipped it up in back. It showed a little more cleavage than she was used to, and the hem rested an inch above her knee.
“I
love these.” Bo handed her a pair of Versace mirror leather sandals with four-inch stiletto heels.
Faith sighed. “Come to Mama.” She slid her feet inside and buckled the straps around her ankles. A full-length mirror stood a few feet away and she posed in front of it, adjusted her breasts within the tight bodice, then buckled the belt around her waist.
“It’s perfect,” Bo told her.
“I look like an ad from the fifties. Like I should have a martini in one hand, waiting for my husband as he walks through the door.”
“A little Leave It to Beaver,” Bo agreed. “June with more cleavage. I think you look sophisticated and fun.”
“How about these?” Valerie held up a pair of onyx chandelier earrings.
“I like the ones I’m wearing,” she said as someone retouched her hair and makeup. For her twenty-ninth birthday, Virgil had given her three-carat-diamond stud earrings that she loved for their clarity and class. She looked at herself one last time in the mirror. It was a bit shocking to see herself in such a bright color again. She wasn’t sure when she’d given up wearing colors. If it had been her idea or Virgil’s. Not that it mattered, she decided, as she left the trainers’ room and moved through the now empty players’ lounge.
Ty was sitting on a bench in front of an open locker filled with hockey sticks while the photographer and his assistant checked the lighting around him. His helmet and street clothes hung on hooks inside the locker, and his name was on a blue-and-red plaque above his head. Except for the helmet, he was dressed in full gear.
Faith had never been in the locker room before, and it smelled a little funky. Like leather and sweat and chemical cleaners. Each open locker was filled with hockey gear and had a plaque with each player’s name above it.
Ty looked up as she approached. “I’ve been ready for fifteen minutes.”
Lord, what a grouch. “It doesn’t take as long when you refuse to let anyone brush your hair,” she told him.