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“What do you want me to change into?”
    “Something else. Anything else.” Her nose curled as she inspected me again. Maybe she was allergic to cowboy. Good thing Rowen hadn’t been.
    Since I guessed nothing I’d packed would be up to Alex’s standards, I decided to try to save some time. “Listen, I’m good. This is what I wear everywhere and, to my knowledge, I haven’t heinously offended anyone to date.”
    “I find that hard to believe,” Alex mumbled. “Now you listen to me.” She wasn’t mumbling anymore. “I’m not asking you to go change because I’m worried about you offending every Seattleite we pass—even though you would. I’m telling you to go change because if you walk into the Underground dressed like that . . . you are not coming out in one piece.” She paused long enough to take a breath but not long enough for me to get a word out. “Those skinny emo guys might seem harmless, but they’re vicious little bitches when they group together.”
    Ah. I got it. She was worried I would get my ass beat by guys who shopped at a different clothing store than I did. Alex might see the world one way, but I obviously saw it another way. Guys, at least the guys I’d met, didn’t give a beating to someone else just because they didn’t agree with each other’s sense of style. If that was how it was there, I was in unchartered waters.
    “Hey, I’m a lover, not a fighter. I’ll be good. Really.” I took a step for the door, hoping she’d follow me. That hope was wasted.
    “Then you’re really not going in there like that, Mr. Lover Not A Fighter. You need to get at least one good punch in before they kill you. That way you can die with honor.”
    She wasn’t going to let it go. Obviously. If the quickest way to get us out of there was for me to get changed, then fine. I’d go change. I hoped a darker pair of jeans and a blue shirt would work for her because that was about as versatile as my wardrobe got. “Fine. I’ll go get changed.”
    “Not so fast.” She bounced up from the couch and followed me. “If you think I’m letting you dive back into that duffel filled with cowboy denim, you’re got another thing coming.” Grabbing my forearm, she steered me into her room.
    It was more of a crypt than a room, and in the first few seconds, I saw so many props, costumes, and toys of a naughty nature that I doubted I’d ever be the same. As Alex tore through her closet, I did my best to focus on the empty patch of carpet in front of my boots. There were a pair of handcuffs to the left and a pair of underwear that really missed the memo on what underwear was intended to cover to the right, so I focused on that four by four inch span of carpet until I felt close to going cross-eyed.
    “Here. These should work.” Alex held out an armful of guy’s clothing and waited for me to take it. “Brad wasn’t quite as beefy as you, but he was about as tall.”
    “Brad?” I asked, realizing my mistake too late.
    Alex sighed something that was too close to a moan for my comfort level. “My old boyfriend. Four exes ago. He was a frickin’ tomcat in the sack. He used to do this thing where he almost lifted me into the air before—”
    “Thanks, Alex,” I interrupted, heading for the door. I didn’t need to hear any more about Brad and his mad tomcat skills in the sack. “I’ll try these on and meet you in the living room in five.” I was almost into the hall when Alex called after me.
    “Ooooh, wait!” She rummaged around under her bed. “Boots!”
    “I’ve already got boots,” I replied right before she flung a pair of black ones my way. I managed to snag them before they clocked me in the face. Okay, so they were boots, but they were basically the polar opposite to the kind I wore—round toed, scuffed up, and a buckle below the ankle. Motorcycle boots? I think?
    “Not all boots are created equal,” Alex argued with my silent thoughts. “And those, Sex God, kick your boots’s