“So why did you ask? Get red.”
“But the blue goes better with the cake. Kizzy’s doing one with purple frosting. She said she saw the perfect cake online at Kiss Kakes, this fancy bakery in Salem. She wanted to just order one from there but the shipping would’ve been crazy expensive.”
I’d tuned out after she mentioned us having to eat something Kizzy made. “Kizzy’s baking the cake? Are we going to die? Why can’t Carly make it?”
“She can’t bake her own birthday cake. That’s not right.”
An image of Mia in an apron and nothing else sprang to mind—and sprang other parts of me into instant wakefulness. “You can’t bake?”
Mia was still too busy studying the candles to reply. I grabbed both boxes, threw them in our cart, and nudged her forward. “Problem solved. Next?”
She didn’t move. “I can’t just buy whatever I want, Fox. My budget won’t allow it.”
I could always tell when she was irritated because I suddenly went back to being Fox. “I know that, babe. But I don’t have to worry about it, so we’re good. Get whatever you need.”
If someone said that to me, I’d be happy. But not my girl. Nope, she slitted her eyes and jolted the cart until it bumped my thigh.
“I’m not with you for your money.”
“I figured, since you won’t take any.” I decided to just keep shopping—sad when that became my preferred out—and hoped that she’d get with the program. “So what else do we need?”
“It’s what else do I need. You’re not responsible for providing things. You’re a guest.”
Getting annoyed wouldn’t help anything. Certain areas between us would remain tenuous until she got used to being in a relationship. I didn’t have it all nailed down myself. “I’m your guy. That means I’m throwing the party too.”
“You’re a guest,” she stressed, walking past me.
“Goddammit, Mia, stop being so fucking stubborn. Yeah, you have brass balls. I know it. I see it every day. But when we’re outside the gym, it’s not all your way or the highway. I have the right to put my foot down about something.”
She swiveled toward me. “Like what?”
I leaned across the cart and braced my elbow, holding my fist in the air. “Arm wrestle me.”
Her lips twitched. “Why?”
“Just do it.” She rolled up her sleeve and gripped my hand. “Count of three. Ready?”
Her chin quivered with the smile she couldn’t quite hold back. “Ready.”
“One. Two. Three.” I didn’t check my strength and took her down with one swift movement. She resisted admirably, but I’d never allow myself to lose with something so important on the line.
Besides, I knew my opponent. She had tons of power in her legs. Her arms were weaker. I’d been working them relentlessly for the last week and a half for that reason.
I hadn’t been sleeping, thinking of that weakness rearing its head in the ring with that asshole Costas. We’d worked out a strategy for the fight where she’d draw on her strengths—her speed and agility, how adept she was at Muay Thai, and her kicks—and we’d practiced it endlessly. That would have to be enough.
“I won.” I finally released her hand. A few other shoppers were eyeing us, but that was nothing new. We tended to attract attention wherever we went. Fighting as easily as we breathed might’ve had something to do with that.
She rubbed her wrist. “No shit, Sherlock. Why you wanted to arm wrestle me in the grocery store is my question.”
I stepped closer and pressed my mouth to her temple, speaking just loud enough for her to hear. “You promised me a night if I won. All night, in my bed. My rules. No tapping out.” I tipped up her chin. “I’m collecting tonight.”
“Uh-uh. That only applied to our fight. Since we’re not fighting, you lose that condition.”
“Show me the written proof .”
“Tray—”
“Back to Tray.” I smiled triumphantly. Yeah, she was weakening. Big time. “You know you want to spend the night with me. We have been most nights anyway.”