“You’re gonna make me wear that?” Rob jabbed a finger at the leather straps and brass studs dangling from the hanger. “That crap won’t even cover my meat and two veg!”
“You’re wearing it.” I said, staring him down. “You go to the damn gym everyday, may as well show it off.”
He spun away from the costume, glaring around the store as though it had slapped him in the ass.
“How about that?” he said, waving at an old-fashioned suit that looked like it belonged in vaudeville.
I didn’t even bother to reply.
I examined the outfit he’d pointed to—a cowboy get-up. Needless to say, the chaps weren’t assless.
“It’s a Roman party, for Christ’s sake. Why are you being such a scaredy-cat?”
“Not all Roman’s were gladiators!” he said, poking again at the over-lapping leather of the costume’s skirt.
“Whatever.” I wandered away to stare at the neon wigs.
* * *
“Cassie, Rob. S’glad you could come!”
It sounded like my co-worker had been at the Jack for a while; I needed to find that bottle. I strode away to the kitchen, but not fast enough to miss her drunken giggle.
“You dressed as a kitten?”
Rob’s voice was sulky. “I’m a lion.”