It shouldn’t be too hard to replace Gregor. Although, Heath would miss the extra s’s.
“Constellation cakes. They shouldn’t be a problem.” Livinia jumped in to smooth things over. “We can decorate them with rhinestones or something.”
“Rhinestones, that is good.” Gregor was boxed in, and he knew it. “I likes it.”
“Here’s the next one,” Harmony announced.
There was more swishing.
“What do you think?” Lyric didn’t sound sure about it.
“Good Lord, it’s indecent. It actually doesn’t cover your nipples.” This time Livinia didn’t whisper. It must have been the shock.
“Okay, that’s it. A man only has so much restraint.” Heath couldn’t help himself. He loved Lyric’s nipples—and her thighs and her ass and, well, pretty much everything else from head to toe.
He lifted the blindfold, and he had to admit, the dress had some promise. She looked like a slutty bride—the lingerie-looking top cinched in her already small waist and pushed her tits up. He wouldn’t mind peeling it off of her … in private, where he would be the only one admiring those nipples.
“I think this is a no.” Harmony turned Lyric around and pushed her toward the dressing room.
“Have we found anything we like?” Miss Mildred, the shop’s owner, said barely above a whisper. In the thirty minutes that he’d been in the store, he’d come to find out that Miss Mildred had to be eight hundred years old and never uttered a word that wasn’t barely above a whisper.
Heath had to strain to hear her.
“Yes, well, we’re trying several gowns on,” Livinia said in a voice that was also barely above a whisper.
Apparently it was catching.
“Deuce, there’s a problem,” a male voice boomed from the front door.
Everyone turned around.
Jimmy-Joe Taggart of Taggart Furniture next door stood out of breath in the doorway. “I saw you come in here and you’ve got a big problem.”
“What’s wrong?” Heath stood.
Was the building on fire?
He sniffed. It just smelled like old people and fabric.
Taggart lumbered forward. “They just announced the team roster for training camp and your name ain’t on it.”
Everything inside of Heath screamed as his heart broke into a million pieces. Now the whole world would know he was a washed-up quarterback. He pulled in gulps of air that burned his lungs. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t stand the questions that would follow or the pitying looks at the answers he’d have to give them. If God was out there, he would swallow Heath whole and be done with it. Heath hit the front door at a wobbling run.
His knee was on fire, but his heart was numb.
* * *
Chapter 24
* * *
Lyric checked the clock on her phone for close to the millionth time. It was 10:18 p.m., a whole minute later than the last time she’d checked it. Big surprise.
It was impossible for time to slow down—she knew the formula that proved it was impossible. But she’d be lying if
she tried to pretend the seven hours since Heath had stormed out of the dress shop hadn’t felt like seven days. Because they had. They really, really had.
She’d wanted to go after him, but Heath had been moving fast, and she’d been dressed in a three-thousand-dollar monstrosity that didn’t exactly lend itself to running. Plus, she could only imagine the headlines tomorrow if Heath Montgomery was seen running away from a woman in a bridal gown on the same day his forced retirement became public.