Ugh, God, why did she have to look like that? She looked like he'd just torn out her uteris. With a sigh, Dante grabbed one of the sweaters from her, pulling it over his head and mumbling to himself. Once adjusted in it, he looked down at himself, trying to decide if he looked masculine or just queer.
"It's comfortable," he admitted, suprised by this fact. He had always assumed shirts like this were stiff and rigid, because the douchebags who wore them looked like they had sticks in their asses. But the knit was really thick, and soft, and he kind of felt like taking a nap in it. Looking himself over, he made a small noise of suprise. "Shit," he mumbled, "my arms are huge..."
---
Having not heard an "I like it," or even a "not bad," she kept quiet, watching him with those intense greys, her hair falling softly over her one bare shoulder. She breathed quietly, chest rising and falling, watching him look over himself. She had chosen the largest size they had that wasn't ridiculously huge, and he filled them snugly (and handsomely, but screw him, she was admitting nothing).
Her only reply to his commentary was a licking of her lips, nervously, as she hugged the remaining shirts to her chest. What an asshole. Gay? They weren't gay. She'd show him gay. She could have brought over the douchebag Ed Hardy-esque tee shirt she saw.
---
It was hard to admit that he liked anything when, for thirteen years, he'd liked nothing. Clothing had been Roger's department, like working and dealing with people who didn't want to fight. Erin as being oddly quiet, and she still had that look in her eyes. Dante's shoulders sagged as he looked at her face. What the fuck.
"Well... you're a girl, and I guess... that's the target audience..." He spread his arms a little, feeling ridiculous. Maybe this was what women were talking about when they said they felt like pieces of meat. "What do you think?"
---
She stared at him, trying not to get distracted by the way his pecs strained against the soft thermal material, and then pursed her lips. "I think you look great, but you think you look 'gay,' so, whatever, give it back, and I can put it away back where it belongs."
She held her hand out for the shirt, obviously annoyed -- and hurt.
---
She was being snippy, and Dante made a face. "Look, Erin, I know you're just itching to get me to undress in front of you, but can't it wait until later? I'm starting to get used to this thing." This seemed like something Roger might own, but Roger was gay so that always concluded, in Dante's brain, that fashion was gay. But this damn thing was snuggly. He didn't even want to take it off to pay for it.
---
Erin took a very deep breath, obviously composing herself, and looked up at him with smoother features. "Do you like it or not? It's plain, masculine, and comfortable... three reasons why I assumed you would like it. Your idea of 'gay' is vague, and probably very dated... which is hilarious, as you are anything but."
She reached over to fix the hem, which was curled under near his belt, pulling is straight. It had been bothering her.
---
Did he like it? He wasn't sure. Maybe. It didn't really fit the tough guy image he had going for him, but then again it made his biceps look enormous and that was a plus in itself. Plus he felt like a little baby wrapped in a cocoon of comfort.
Before he could decide as to if he really liked it, her chilly hand was grabbing at the hem of his sweater and aiming right for his personal areas. "Hey!" he yelped, startled. And then he blushed. What in the fuck. "Here," he said shortly, dumping the jeans into her arms. "I gotta... a thing." He walked off quickly, ducking his head low, cursing at himself. What in the fuck was this girl doing to him?