Chapter 113

The tailor who was poking at Scooter’s trousers with a tomato red cushion full of pins had not dropped the servile tones; apparently even redneck friends of the Howards deserved the full Ritz treatment. Scooter stared at himself in the mirror while another woman took in the jacket with quick stitches. They’d get this put together and sent right over, she assured him. If he’d care to get Mr. Howard’s opinion, before…? And she delicately gestured with one hand to the main floor.

Scooter fingered the jacket again. Jason hadn’t looked this put together six months ago at his own fucking wedding.

“I feel ridiculous,” he muttered, coming up behind Andy, who was picking non-existent lint off his sleeve and selecting a tie with a jerk of his chin.

“Everything in New York is ridiculous,” Andy said easily, turning. “It’s a…A…” His eyes went wide and he took half a step back to look Scooter over, top to bottom and back up again. “Holy fuck.”