Not-Barber Marcus abandoned his folding station and walked toward the non-clearance section with the confidence of someone who actually knew what he was doing. He pulled a pair of dark jeans off a rack, checked the size, and shoved them at Jordan.
"Thirty-two waist?"
"Yeah."
"Try these. They're stretchy so they won't feel like dress pants but they look cleaner than regular jeans."
Next came a white button-up shirt. Plain, no pattern, the kind of shirt that could work for multiple occasions. Not-Barber Marcus grabbed a navy blue bomber jacket off a mannequin and added it to the growing pile in Jordan's arms.
"Shoes?"
Jordan looked down at his Nikes. White with grey swooshes. Technically clean because he'd washed them two months ago, but definitely not date-appropriate.
"What do you have?"
Not-Barber Marcus led him to the shoe section and pointed at a pair of Chelsea boots. Brown leather, low-profile, the kind of shoes that said "I'm trying but not too hard."
"These'll work with the jeans. They're on sale too. Hundred twenty before tax."
Jordan did the math in his head. Jeans, shirt, jacket, boots. Probably pushing two-fifty with tax.
He'd spent more than that on a single dinner with Eliza.
"I'll take all of it," Jordan said.
Not-Barber Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to try them on first?"
"No time. If they don't fit I'll return them tomorrow."
"Respect." Not-Barber Marcus grabbed the shoebox and headed toward the register. "You want the tags off everything so you can wear it out?"
"Yeah."
The total came to two hundred sixty-three dollars and forty-seven cents. Jordan handed over his metal card without flinching. The transaction went through. Not-Barber Marcus bagged the old clothes, removed all the tags from the new stuff, and pointed Jordan toward the bathroom.
"Good luck with your sort-of date, man."
Jordan changed in a bathroom stall, pulling on the dark jeans and white button-up. The jeans fit perfectly, sitting right at his waist without being too tight. The shirt was maybe half a size too big but that worked better than too small. He left the top two buttons undone because buttoning all the way to the neck made him look like he was about to ask someone to join a pyramid scheme.
The bomber jacket was lightweight, navy blue with ribbed cuffs. Not too formal, not too casual.
Jordan laced up the Chelsea boots and stood in front of the bathroom mirror.
Holy shit.
He looked like a person. An actual functioning person who had his life together.
The haircut helped. Marcus had shaped everything perfectly. The color was close enough to natural that it didn't scream "box dye emergency." Combined with the clean clothes and decent shoes, Jordan looked like someone who might actually go on dates instead of paying for them.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
2:51 PM.
Nine minutes until his meeting with Calypso.
Jordan left Macy's through the side exit, cutting across the parking lot toward The Ivy. His new boots clicked against the pavement with each step. The restaurant loomed ahead, white walls and actual ivy creating an aesthetic that probably photographed really well for Instagram.
His stomach twisted itself into complicated knots.
This was happening. He was actually doing this.
Jordan pushed through the front door. The hostess looked up from her tablet, giving him a professional smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Welcome to The Ivy. Do you have a reservation?"
"Meeting someone at three," Jordan said. "Don't know if she made one under her name."
"Name?"
Jordan froze.
Calypso wasn't her real name. Obviously. That was her screen name, her brand, her online persona. He had no idea what her actual government name was because she'd never shared it. All their communication had happened through OnlyFans DMs and one confirmation text this morning.
"Actually, I'll just wait outside," Jordan said quickly. "She should be here soon."
The hostess nodded like this was a completely normal response and returned her attention to her tablet.
Jordan retreated to the outdoor seating area, finding a bench with a view of the parking lot. Valet attendants stood near the entrance, ready to take keys from people whose cars actually deserved valet service.
His phone buzzed again.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
BEAUTY DETECTED IN PROXIMITY
WARNING: No slots currently registered
Would you like to register this beauty to SLOT ONE?
[YES] [NO]
Jordan's heart rate spiked immediately. He looked around the outdoor seating area, scanning faces. A woman in her forties sat at a nearby table with her husband. Two college-aged girls shared a dessert three tables over. An older woman walked a small dog past the restaurant entrance.
Which one was Calypso?
Then he saw her.
Walking up the sidewalk from the parking lot, a girl in black jeans and a white crop top. Large sunglasses covering half her face. Black medical mask hiding everything from her nose down. White baseball cap pulled low.
And that electric blue streak in her black hair, visible even from a distance.
Jordan's mouth went completely dry.
She was shorter than he'd expected. Maybe five-six in the heeled ankle boots she wore. Her body matched every photo he'd seen online. Hourglass figure, toned stomach visible between her crop top and high-waisted jeans, thighs thick enough to create a gap at the top when she walked.
The System notification pulsed on his screen, waiting for input.
[YES] [NO]
Jordan's thumb hovered over the YES button.
This was it. The moment of truth. Either he committed to this test run or he backed out and spent the next forty-five minutes with zero information.
Calypso walked closer. Twenty feet away now. Fifteen.
She was scanning the outdoor seating area, looking for someone.
Looking for him.
Jordan pressed YES.
His phone screen flashed gold, then transformed into the now-familiar interface.
SLOT ONE: REGISTERED
SCANNING...
NAME: CHLOE KIM
AGE: 18
OCCUPATION: Student | Content Creator
CURRENT ATTRACTION: 8%
===
A/N:
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