Free Professor’s Rule 01 - Giving an Inch by Heidi Belleau, Amelia C. Gormley Page B

way too complicated in meatspace. Maybe the salesman had a Grindr app.
    “Let me go grab some pins and a measuring tape,” the salesman murmured, glancing down to where the hem of the slacks dragged on the floor several inches below James’s ankles. “We can have them taken in a little at the hips and thighs as well as hemmed; a little bit of custom tailoring can take something off the rack and make it incredible.”
    James nodded, because “I have no idea what you’re talking about” didn’t seem like it would be all that charming. The salesman lingered just a second more before releasing his hips and disappearing. When he was gone, James looked critically at his reflection, seeing nothing extraordinary about the slacks at all. They were . . . slacks. Just slacks.
    Then he grabbed the pinch of fabric and turned sideways to try to see what the salesman had seen.
    Oh. Oh .
    Well, hello there. He wasn’t usually one to get all vain about his appearance, but he couldn’t help noticing that the pinches did rather nice things for his ass.
    He should definitely stop admiring himself and snap a picture for his sister.
    Not of his ass, though.
    He took one picture and waited for the salesman to return, thinking he’d take one more with them pinned as well. The salesman came back and knelt at James’s feet, and hello, wasn’t that a fun and suggestive position? Then he gathered those strategic pinches again and pinned them in place before standing behind James to assess what he’d done. James snapped the picture, trying not to think about the last man who’d stood so close, looming above him and sending electric pulses of awareness zinging through his body.
    “What do you think?” the salesman asked, pulling James out of his unwelcome reminiscing.
    “I think it looks good. I mean, I think it’s supposed to look good.” He made an exasperated noise. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m not exactly an expert.”
    The salesman laughed.
    “I’m actually going to text some pictures to my sister to get her advice on the whole thing. Is that sad?”
    “Sad for me because it means you don’t trust my opinion.” He put both hands on James’s shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “Kidding! No, it’s cool, people do that sort of thing all the time. How about I leave you to do that and bring you back a couple more shirt options?”
    “Sounds good.” Nodding, James watched in the mirror as the salesman walked away. His mood had taken a sudden dip right at the end there, which he needed to shake himself out of because up until that point he’d been enjoying his almost-not-quite flirtation with the salesman. Paging quickly through the menu on his phone, he fired off a quick text to his sister.
    For your approval, J .
    The reply came way quicker than he’d have expected from his sickly sister. Hard to imagine she was waiting by the phone for him to text, but maybe she’d been using it to surf Facebook in bed.
    Who’s the pretty salesman, my sweet?
    Oh, shit .
    Shit. Damn. Fuck! Why hadn’t he deleted Carson’s name from his fucking address book two years ago? James hated the way his breath caught, hated the way he could hear Carson’s voice drawling that endearment, hated the way he began to sweat, terror and lust sending his pulse and senses into overdrive in an instant.
    As he tried to figure out a way to explain the mistake, or even decide whether to ignore it, his phone vibrated again.
    Lose the shirt .
    That asshole. James growled at his phone and typed back, What the hell’s wrong with it?
    Isn’t your pretty salesman going to come back with others for you to try on? You don’t want to make him stand around waiting.
    Fuck it all. How could he possibly know that?
    Of course he knew. He always knew. Just a hint and he knew exactly what James was doing, exactly what he was thinking. He’d known from a single fucking picture that there were vibes happening between James and the salesman, after all. Probably