I’m feeling pretty damn loved right now. Oh God—not loved, loved. But yeah. Whatever. I may reject the word but the feeling’s the same.
I head into the shoe store and browse around, totally conscious of Junior trailing behind me, watching my every move. They have a bunch of fancy shoes I would never wear. Well, I might wear them if I had a reason, but since my life consists of work, Zumba and home, I’m not interested in six-inch fashion heels.
Like in the jewelry store, Junior circles around the shop on his own trajectory and shows up at my side holding a nice leather boot. I already have a pair of boots—I’m wearing them—so I didn’t even look at them. I drop my gaze to my own boots. Worn out. Fake leather. The style that came out three seasons ago.
“I’d like to try these in a seven,” I tell the clerk.
She nods and heads off to the back room.
“So what? Now you’re my personal shopper?” I should really act more grateful. Somehow, it’s more fun pushing back at Junior, though.
As usual, he appears vaguely amused by my attitude, and just shrugs.
I try the boots on. They fit perfectly—totally comfortable. Three hundred fifty dollar price tag, not that it matters. Junior’s buying.
“Well?” I demand.
“What so now you want my opinion?” The start of a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.
“You are the personal shopper, aren’t you?”
He full-on grins. “I’d take you shopping any day.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s not like it’s roses and chocolate sweet. But it kind of is.
I mean, don’t guys hate shopping? Especially if it means the woman’s spending all his money? And it’s not like I’m being appreciative or nice or anything. It’s not like he’s getting anything out of this. Or does he think he is? I shoot him a suspicious look and his grin widens. Grows more feral.
Well shit. That should worry me, but instead it sets off butterflies of excitement in my belly.
“I’ll take these,” I tell the saleswoman. “Do you have them in brown as well?”
“I sure do!” she chirps and heads to the back room. She must work on commission.
“There,” I tell Junior, who is looking through a rack of leather jackets. “All done, with time to spare.”
Junior holds up a leather shearling jacket with black faux fur collar and cuffs. I never would’ve picked it out, but I try it on. It’s comfortable and warm and ten times nicer than my current jacket. It costs $1029.
“I used up my budget already,” I remind him.
“And this one, for when it’s not as cold.” Junior passes me a thinner, buttery leather slim cropped affair with a belt. It, too, is very comfortable and fashionable. And this puppy’s four hundred bucks.
The saleswoman shows up, thrilled that I’m still shopping. “That looks so good on you,” she gushes.
Junior waits until she toddles away, bringing my boots to the counter to murmur, “It does.” He steps into my space and adjusts the collar, staring down at me with black eyes. “You like them? They’re yours.”
I lick my lips. “Why are you doing this?”
“To cheer you up. Is it working?”
I nod. “Yeah, actually. It is. Thanks.”
He tilts his head down and for one second I think he’s going to kiss me—and I’m not sure I’m into it, especially in a boutique, but he just leans his forehead against mine. “I don’t like to see you cry,” he murmurs.
My breath catches. I give his chest a very half-hearted push. More of a nudge really. “I didn’t know you did nice.”
He pulls away and I’m disappointed to see his mask’s back in place, like I just reminded him to be an asshole. “You’re right. I don’t.” No smile at all as he turns and walks to the counter, pulling out his money.
Damn. Why’d I have to be such a bitch?
* * *
Junior
I should’ve given her a higher spending limit. I didn’t realize she’d try to bust it all in one stop, but I don’t mind seeing that ring flashing on her finger and knowing I put it there. Pretending I marked her with it, claimed her as mine.
She heads toward the car, but I make a negative sound in my throat. “Time’s not up.”
“Yeah, but I spent the limit.”
I tip my head toward a clothing boutique. I’m an asshole, but I really want to see her changing clothes. Dressing up. Modeling shit. It’s stupid, but a total turn on for me. I love the idea of a woman dressing for her man. Twirling around and asking if she looks good, knowing damn well she does.
She lifts her brows, but I can tell she likes it. A lot of women get turned on seeing money splashed around. I guess on a biological level, it shows the man’s a good provider or some shit. All I know is throwing money down in front of a woman makes good foreplay. Not that I’m trying to get laid.