Keeping Secrets in Seattle - By Brooke Moss Page 0,44
into his mouth. Within seconds, his eyes began watering and his cheeks turned bright red. I sat there snickering as Gabe chewed and tried to swallow, retching slightly every time he attempted. A thin line of sweat beaded at his hairline. After three or four attempts at choking the bite down, he spat it into the sink and flicked on the garbage disposal.
I smirked. “Ha. I told you.”
He cast a fake glare over his shoulder and sauntered out of the kitchen. “Nobody likes a sore winner.”
I looked around the rest of Gabe’s apartment. “What are you working on?”
His dining room table was littered with poster boards covered in brightly covered slogans and different versions of the same black-and-white photograph of an eagle taking flight. His laptop was running with several windows open on its screen, and there were a few dozen crumpled pieces of paper scattered around the floor. From the corner of my eye, I saw that there were several more crumpled papers on the shelf where the framed snapshot of Cameron was. My stomach twisted around itself. I was starting to have nightmares about that night again.
“I have a presentation on Monday that I’m totally behind on.” Gabe cast a frustrated glance at the mess. “I think I made a breakthrough this morning, though, so I should be able to pull something together soon. It’s a big account, and I need to win them over. I need my bonus more than ever right now.”
I looked at him through the corner of my eye. His brow was furrowed, and he was clenching his jaw. “If it helps, I paid the same amount for a dress this morning as a 1985 Honda would cost.”
Gabe’s eyes widened. “How much did you pay? I told Alicia not to pick out something unreasonable.”
I loved that he was looking out for me, but the mention of his fiancée’s name made me nauseated. “Don’t worry about it. It looks awesome on me.”
One corner of his mouth perked upward. “That I don’t doubt.”
“Have you guys picked out tuxes yet?” I asked, looking at some of the discarded papers on the table.
“Yeah.” He scruffed his hand across the back of his neck.
I elbowed him. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Gabe laughed.
“What do they look like?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. They were black with silver ties. Very fancy. Very manly.”
Smirking, I went back to the papers on the table. “Manly? This from the guy who just choked on a small bite of kimchi.”
Gabe grabbed my arm and pulled me against his chest, his pursed lips tugging up in the corner. “Oh, I can be manly.”
“That so?” My knees started shaking.
He grinned smugly, his face inches from mine. “Your breath smells like feet.”
I shoved him. “Shut up. Go get a towel and chair. We need to cut your hair, Marlboro man.”
He turned and strutted down the hallway toward his bathroom, and I unpacked my bag, carefully laying the scissors, razors, and combs on the granite-top counters. When Gabe sauntered back into the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, I pulled a dining room chair into the middle of the kitchen floor and patted it. “Sit.”
Gabe raised his T-shirt over his head and peeled it off, exposing his splendidly cut chest and abs, all covered in the most radiant brown skin I’d ever seen. Drawing a sharp breath, I pretended to cough when Gabe looked at me curiously. I begged God for the strength not to purr while running my hands down his stomach—which was, of course, my first instinct.
I put my palms on his shoulders the way I usually did with my clients but instantly jerked them up to the back of the chair.
Gabe looked up at me with a grin. “Do you want me to put my shirt back on?”
“No.” My reply came out loudly, and I cringed. “What I mean is, I don’t have an apron, so you’ll probably get hair under your collar, and it will get all scratchy.”
Plus, if you put your shirt back on, I won’t be able to stare at your bodacious body.
I grabbed my scissors. “So, are we doing the usual cut?”
He settled into the chair and closed his eyes. “Work your magic, Vi.”
I’d googled Alicia Von Longorial—aka Alicia Long—on the bus ride over to Gabe’s apartment, but other than a couple of local advertisements bearing her pale face and rail-like body, I’d come up empty-handed. It was time to do some subtle interrogation.