Chapter Sixteen

“Miss Laurier is a very different woman off college grounds. Less stuffy. Not as uptight. You two seem to be getting along fine.”

“We’ve been working closely the last couple of weeks.” Cole hedged, standing like a mannequin before the mirror. Farrah’s reflection rifled through some hangers while Greta; the middle-aged store tailor, took measurements. “She’s inspired me to new heights of creation.”

They’d outfitted him in charcoal pleated trousers and a white Oxford shirt complimented his broad shoulders. Greta’s gaze remained glued to them as she wrapped the tape measure around his chest. She had the aura of a jolly aunty with the rotund figure to match.

“Arms up, please. Higher.” The matronly seamstress instructed. “My, you are a handsome one, dear. You remind me of a young Gene Kelly–no, Frank Sinatra.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“So polite too! I had such a crush ol’ Blue Eyes when I was a girl.”

“Do you sing or dance, Cole? Play any instruments?” Farrah inquired, shaking out a creme wool knit sweater. “Try this on.”

He had to concede she had a keen sense of what made his track-and-field-honed frame pop. The dusky-skinned princess hadn’t been shy, asking him to undress in her presence. Farrah armored herself in cool professionalism, turning away when he stepped out of his pants.

“I can carry a tune and boogie a bit.” Cole quipped, unbuttoning the Oxford. “Dad gave me music lessons, not that I’ve made much use of the instrument he taught me.”

“A guitar, no doubt. American men think mastering six strings an accomplishment.” Farrah watched dispassionately as he stripped off the shirt. Greta hummed her appreciation.

“Piano, actually. He was considered a child prodigy, but Gramps decided that it wasn’t a worthwhile pursuit. The passion never left him, though. Dad has an old Casio keyboard and still loves tickling the keys. You should hear him bang out the jazz classics.”

Farrah’s reflection twitched, a spark of interest kindled. Cole doubled down with a question of his own, pulling on the sweater.

“What do you play? I saw your instrument case on orientation day but couldn’t fathom what it contained.”

“The trousers are loose. I’ll have to take them in.” Greta remarked, marking notes in a pocketbook. “Don’t mind me.”

“A Qanun. It’s a type of zither that has twenty-six courses of strings with three strings per course. Twice as many as a harp.” Farrah stated proudly—her cold exterior cracking. “Mine is a family heirloom with traditional fish skin on the bridge. A priceless treasure passed down for generations.”

Cole was impressed. The imperious beauty must indeed have dexterous fingers to play something that complex—a serious piece of history in the hands of a gifted musician. He was about to compliment her when Bella burst into the fitting room in a panic.

“Farrah! Thank god. You’re needed on the sales floor. Miss Laurier is–oh!” She slowed her roll upon spotting Cole. “Well, don’t you clean up nice. Lookin’ good, hot stuff.”

The bodacious redhead had switched out her modest dress for more… scintillating attire. An embroidered black body stocking made love to her sumptuous contours with cutouts showcasing her flat midriff and mountainous bosom. Spiked platform heels adorned her dainty feet, boosting her thick thighs and bubble butt to stratospheric heights of sex appeal.

She was stage-ready to appear in a Cardi B music video with an inviting soft booty that nearly equaled Lita’s magnificence.

It was an inopportune time to sprout a semi but Cole couldn’t fight the primal response. Bella smirked cheekily, clocking his reaction.

“You got any moves, Cole?” She strutted forward, swinging her wide hips until she was right in his face. “They say foreplay starts on the dancefloor.”

“Might surprise you.” He met her sizzling gaze, catching a whiff of her wild cherry perfume.

“Miss Laurier wasn’t lying. You’re not shy around women at all.”

“Yeah, especially not beautiful women.” That drew a giggle from the redhead.

Farrah coughed, a polite reminder of her presence. “Bella, You were saying I am needed on the sales floor?”

The moment shattered. Bella shook herself like a dreamer waking from sleep.

“What? Um, yes! Miss Laurier has whipped our classmates into a frenzy!” She spun on her friend. “They’re setting up a fashion contest, and she keeps telling everyone that the winner gets a date with Cole. It’s a rodeo out there!”

Cole wanted to facepalm upon hearing Krystal’s antics. Then, something stroked up the inside of his leg, bumping his unfurling length.

“Oh! Ah, goodness… excuse me.” Everyone turned towards the flustered voice. Greta squatted at Cole’s feet, measuring his inseam. The hand holding her tape measure butted against the bulge prodding his knee. “You’re… uh, wow. That’s… that’s… gosh! Don’t suppose a young lad like you would mind taking tea with an old spinster? Life can get lonely, and a lady has–”

“Greta!” Farrah snapped before visibly taking a calming breath. “He’s a customer. Control yourself.”

The motherly seamstress blushed beet red, clearly as mortified as Cole. All eyes fixed on the obscene outline in his trousers.

“My apologies! I–I’ll get started on the alterations.” Greta fanned her cheeks, on the verge of swooning. “Please excuse me.”

She bustled off. Cole called a belated “thank you” to her retreating back. He felt bad. She’d been nice but he was spoken for. Not that the young artist had anything against older women. He had a history…

“Sorry about that.” Farrah performed a formal half-bow, hands clasped. “She’s very good at her job. If she offended–”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Cole waved away the awkward encounter. “Forget it ever happened. We should probably stop whatever madness Kryst–I mean, Miss Laurier has instigated.”

Both girls shot him suspicious glances at the slip but didn’t comment as they left the fitting room.

---

“What on earth is happening here?” Farrah growled.

The attendant’s counter outside the women’s changing rooms was burdened with a mountain of discarded clothing and accessories. Short skirts, skinny jeans, slinky minidresses, scanty sportswear, and even some racy lingerie teetered in a precarious heap.

“Miss Laurier happened.” Bella announced helpfully. “She can be very… persuasive.”

Farrah gave her a judgmental glare, wordlessly pointing out the redhead’s translucent body sheath.

“Did somebody say my name?” A curtain drew back and Krystal saunted out of a stall. “My word, is that Cole? Farrah dear, you did a fantastic job. He looks like a movie star.”

Cole could only gape.

His MILF lover had evidently opted for a glow-up too–trading her typical bohemian attire for a sharp (if somewhat short) business dress cut in the style of a grey double-breasted suit. It was sleeveless with two ranks of buttons down the front. The jacket lapels formed a plunging neckline that framed her mouth-watering cleavage. Shadowy stockings clung to her silky legs, capped in silver pumps that couldn’t be office-friendly.

…not with those four-inch stiletto heels.

“Thank you, Miss–” Farrah didn’t get much further before Krstal bore down her like a warship under full steam.

“You have such an incredible range of stock, dear. No wonder everyone is talking about this store. I simply had to find something for myself. Simply had to! We girls can’t let Cole hog all the fun, can we? In fact, we’re putting on a little runway show. Just for funsies. You should join us!”

“About that–” Farrah tried again, but Krystal looped an arm through hers with a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll help you pick something out, dear. It will be fine. Better than fine, it’ll be a blast. You won’t regret it, dear.” The older brunette assured, guiding Farrah away. “You embody regal elegance. Ooze it from every pore. But have you considered something more casual, dear? A break from the stuffy formalwear is as good as a holiday. Believe me, I know.”

Cole’s jaw couldn’t hang any lower.

He recognized the persona, though. This wasn’t Krystal; the doting lover—nor Krystal; the prim college admin. That was Krystal, the photographer steamrolling the poor girl—a professional who could maneuver people before they understood what was happening.

“Whoa, she’s a handful.” Bella chortled, elbowing him in the ribs.

“You have no idea.” Cole sighed.

“What I don’t understand is youse guys dynamic.” The buxom redhead continued. “Figured you were boning when you walked in together. And hey, nothing wrong with that. We’re all consenting adults here. Or are you banging the punk chick? Lita, wasn’t it? There’s chemistry there too.

“But then Miss Laurier offers to pimp you out with this fashion competition hoopla and Lita was the first onboard. That’s not standard girlfriend behavior. I’m confused yet intrigued.”

Cole really didn’t want to explain how Krystal was the ringmaster of the circus his love life had become and didn’t have too. Their relationship was private. It was no one’s business but their own.

Also, he suspected Krystal got off on sneaking around and playing the naughty teacher. He kinda enjoyed it too. His biggest concern was what she might cook up with this latest scheme.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Honestly, I can’t believe she’s dragged everyone into whatever this is, myself included.” Cole shrugged in mock defeat. “She lured me here to buy a few new shirts. I’m as helpless as the rest of you.”

Bella laughed, slinging a slender arm around his waist. The movement brought them hip-to-hip and her barely concealed tits brushed his bicep. Cole caught another whiff of her cherry perfume, his cock instantly stiffened at her warm presence.

“You’re alright, hot stuff.” She laughed. “Let’s grab a seat in the boyfriend and husband’s waiting area. This might take a while.”

“Is that Cole?” Rachael’s cheerful face poked out from a privacy curtain, spotting him. “It is! Don’t go anywhere, mule boy. I’ve got this in the bag. That date is mine!”

---

Cole was surprised to discover that Le Elite Mode had a small runway. The short raised platform–which usually housed mannequins–ran from the rear stockroom doors to the middle of the sales floor.

It wasn’t a catwalk one would find in Paris or Milan, but cleared of its plastic residents, it was more than enough for their six-woman fashion week.

Well, he presumed they numbered six until Krystal took the stage.

“Welcome, welcome, everyone! And thank you for participating in this little fashion show. What fun!” She gushed, beaming at her small audience. “I must say, you ladies are brilliant diamonds. I’m proud of each and every one of you.”

Folding chairs had been positioned at the end of the impromptu runway. Cole sat in the center, flanked by three fellow freshmen on either side. They wore button-down trenchcoats, concealing them from neck to mid-calf like cartoon secret agents.

Even Farrah, who appeared mildly uncomfortable, applauded.

“Before we begin,” Krystal raised an index finger. “Let’s get a sample of our prize. Cole, kindly join me on stage.”

She beckoned to him. Cole’s heart hammered, uncertain of her intentions.

“Here, put this on.” Bella tossed him a black leather jacket with too many buckles and zippers. “Strut for us, hot stuff!”

Sliding it on, he stepped beside Krystal, flashing her a quizzical ‘what the hell?’ glare.

“Whoa, are you girls feeling the heat?” She fanned herself while slyly pinching his ass. “You heard them, Cole. C’mon, give us your best imitation of a peacock.”

Not one to back down from a challenge, Cole combed fingers through his dark hair, then strode his way to the rear of the catwalk. Whispered comments and giggles dogged his steps before he spun with a flourish, capturing the audience's attention with an overdramatic pose.

“Holy cheese balls. He’s a natural.” Someone breathed, likely Rachael. “Check out his posture.”

“Shhh! Don’t ruin this for me. Where’s the music?”

On cue, a peppy tune emanated from the store sound system. Not quite dance music but a beat he could move to.

With one hand in a pocket and the other loose at his side, Cole swaggered. Unhurried and in time with the rhythm, he swung his shoulders, affecting the disinterested expression of every model he’d ever seen on television.

“Nice choice of outfit, Farrah. He looks scrummy as hell.”

“Thank you. I’ll admit I may have outdone myself today.”

Overhead lights blinded Cole to who was speaking, but they sounded impressed. He executed a half-turn at the end and pulled a silly face, puckering his lips.

Nobody laughed.

Instead, they cheered, which was embarrassing. He released a long sigh like a deflating tire.

“Bravo. Bravo!”

“More! Make him do it again!”

“Someone fetch me a bucket of iced water! I need to cool off!”

“A fine effort. Well done.”

“Thank you, Cole.” Krystal approached, her outwardly calm facade marred by a predatory twist of her lips. She was a tigress ready to pounce. “Let’s sit and give the ladies a chance to shine. Who’s first?”

---

A big thank you to the anonymous supporter who commissioned this fun tale. You know who you are. Chapters are posted on my BuyMeACoffee page weeks in advance. Supporters can read them for the price of a single cuppa joe. Cheers for reading!