At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

“I’m not twenty-one. I’m not even close to twenty-one. I shouldn’t be shopping here,” I mutter, skirting the main issue to avoid embarrassment like any normal person would as I stand behind PJ while he looks through a rack of tank tops.

And really, this kind of is an issue now that I think about it. Glancing around the store, I see not one woman even close to my age. The people that work here aren’t even out of high school yet. My daughter shopped here before she entered her black phase. Sure, I’m wearing her clothes right now, but should I really be shopping in a store my thirteen-year-old and all her friends frequent?

PJ continues to slide hangers along the pole attached to the wall, still looking for a tank top to add to my pile. Aside from me freaking out about how I’m not going to be able to pay for any of this stuff, PJ has been an amazing shopping partner. He’s pointed out things he thinks would look good on me, but left the final decision completely up to me. He hasn’t just walked around throwing things into a pile that he likes, without thinking about what I want or like. If I shake my head at something he suggests, he immediately puts it back and moves on to the next item. I turn away from him and continue looking around the store, growing more and more uncomfortable each time the bell goes off in the doorway, announcing that another teenager who is a hell of a lot younger than me has entered.

“This is probably the type of store where they card you, but instead of telling you that you’re aren’t old enough, they look at your driver’s license, then look at you, and then they let out a low whistle. You know the kind of whistle I’m talking about. The one that says ‘Holy shit, she’s old and now I feel really bad asking for her I.D.’ I bet an alarm goes off when I walk in the dressing room. Warning! Warning! Stretch marks, wrinkles, crow’s feet! You can’t shop here!” I ramble on.

While I’m standing here babbling all the reasons I shouldn’t be here right now, I feel the heat from PJ’s body as he moves right behind me. I feel his thighs against my ass and I feel his chest against my back. My body gives a little jolt when his hands grab my hips to pull me more snugly against him as his head comes down and his lips hover right by my ear.

“Didn’t I just tell you not more than thirty minutes ago that you look too young to have a teenager?” he asks softly, his warm breath skating over my ear and the side of my neck. “You’re sexy and beautiful and young enough to shop anywhere you damn well please. I didn’t think you were a day over twenty-five, and never would have believed you had a daughter that old until I saw it for myself.”

I close my eyes and let his words soak in, relishing the way it feels to have a man say something like this to me, even if he’s only doing it to be nice and get me to stop rambling like a lunatic.

Turning around with my armful of clothes I can’t afford, I smile up at him as I take a step back, and his hands drop from my hips. Having him touch me like that and stand so close to me makes my brain want to explode with the thousand different thoughts and wants and needs that are running through it.

“Well, aren’t you a charmer. I bet you say that to all the ladies who are pushing thirty-three.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at me. “Nope. Only you. And you already know how old I am, since you were at my birthday party a few weeks ago.”

I groan as we start moving through the store.

“Don’t remind me. I’d rather forget that night ever happened. But thanks for reminding me you’re thirty-five. God, you’re really old,” I tell him with a joking grimace.

“Hey, you can’t deny that night was the best thing that ever happened to you. I still can’t believe you thought it was a children’s party,” PJ says with a laugh.

“Whatever. You would have thought the same thing under those circumstances. But you’re right, it did turn out to be the best decision I ever made.”

I suddenly realize we’re moving toward the register. My palms start to sweat, the skin on the back of my neck prickles, and my legs stop working when we’re a few feet away. PJ realizes I’m not still right next to him when he gets to the counter and looks back over his shoulder at me.

“What’s wrong?”

I can’t even get my voice to work now, either. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Probably because I’m still trying to come up with a good excuse as to why all the time he spent picking out clothes for me was a waste, so I don’t look like a complete and total loser. I could tell him I just remembered I’m allergic to synthetic fabrics and can’t possibly wear any of this. I could tell him that on my journey to freedom and independence, I decided to join a nudist colony and therefore will no longer need clothes. I could tell him I just got a text that the zombie apocalypse has officially begun, so we might as well start the looting now and run.