Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men) by Eden Connor Page A

a fucking dress. And get a damn fifty dollar hair cut.” She pictured her mother waving pom-poms, and leaping into the air, wearing the white go-go boots Alice had treasured since high school.
    Slinging her books into the passenger seat, she used her phone to check her bank balances. The wheelchair tournament paid officials in cash before each game. She dug out her copy of the schedule and counted the games she was scheduled to referee. Eight games meant she had no excuse not to buy a dress and heels before she went to talk to Eric’s cousin. It was only ten-thirty. She’d already planned to cut her class that started at three, so she could be at the tournament before it started. She had time and the money to run to the mall.
    Tina...who? She tried to recall the name Eric mentioned.
    Not that she was in the mood to see another of his drop-dead gorgeous ex-girlfriends, but the idea of letting someone else hunt through endless racks of dresses held some appeal. At least, if she had to do this, she could tell him to mark her rent paid. But just...fuck my life. Gall bladder surgery sounded like more fun.
    Her mom would be glad to meet her at lunchtime, but she had no intention of trying on dresses only her grandmother could love, or the hippie-dippy things Alice liked. Finding shoes promised to bring more pain. Lila didn’t answer her phone. She didn’t know anyone else who might share the misery, not this time of day.
    Growling aloud in annoyance, she drove to the mall and picked a space near the large department store anchoring one end of the mall. She scuffed her shoes along the pavement and blew her bangs out of her eyes. If Dee could cut her hair like that picture, she could kill two vampires with one trip, because coming back here wasn’t high on her list of things to do. Would that pay her rent for next month, too? Likely not, since Dee had already seen her with Eric. But she’d find a way to mention they’d moved in together, in case he was feeling generous.
    Dodging the circle of picketers waving signs, Amy stepped through the doors.
    Tina... Tina... Bridwell? Bridgewell? No, too many letters. To her relief, a lady working in the shoe department knew who she meant. “Her department’s just past the luggage, on your right. I saw her this morning, so she should be there. She’s wearing a lavender sweater.”
    Wondering how the hell to drop the tidbit about living with Eric into a conversation with a stranger, she made her way through the store, hoping for a sudden attack of appendicitis.
    Tina had green eyes and wore too much eye shadow for Amy’s taste, but the other woman nodded when she explained her problem. “Eric De Marco recommended I talk to you,” Amy added.
    Lifting her brows, Tina gave her a questionnaire to fill out. Amy listed her sizes and anything else she knew the answer to, including the “wardrobe goals” section. Life goals she had by the bucketful. Her wardrobe goal was not wearing her lunch. She doubted that was what Tina expected to see on the form.
    Tina then yanked on Amy’s shirt, urging her to turn in a circle. “Definitely a size twelve petite,” she announced in a piercing, size-two voice that made Amy want to slap her, “ not a ten.” Her eyes narrowed and she lowered her gaze to Amy’s chest. “You do know a ten dollar bra is the ruination of a two hundred dollar dress, do you not?”
    Every hair on the back of Amy’s neck was standing at attention. “Since I can’t afford a two hundred dollar dress, I think my bra’s just fine.”
    Tina introduced her to a gray-haired lady with a tape measure draped around her neck. Pins bristled from a cushion strapped to her wrist. Tina ordered the seamstress to take a few measurements—mostly of her bust—asked what Amy’s budget was, and told her to come back in an hour.
    Forty-five minutes later, Dee turned off the blow dryer. Before Amy could blink, the stylist covered her eyes with her palm. Coughing, she fought to get her