I swing my bike helmet by its strap, and I’m so wrapped up in my shopping lust that I don’t even notice there’s someone beside me until his shadow looms over me.
“You have good taste.”
“Oh my god.” I hold my hand to my swiftly beating heart. It’s Ian. I’d recognize that smell, that voice anywhere. Today his superhero abs are covered in a light gray T-shirt and jeans. He has some heavy brown boots on his feet and a big watch on his wrist. His brown hair is rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed. I bite down on my molars to keep from leaning forward and sniffing him.
“What are you doing here, stalker?” I sound shrill.
He’s amused. Again. Goddammit. Maybe his amused face is his pissed-off face. Or maybe he has only one expression. I don’t really know. I’m not like a body language expert. I’m a bike courier. I refuse to refer to myself as a drug mule.
“I’m here to buy a gift. Want to help me pick it out? I usually give the sales associate a tip, but that money can be yours.” His hand is on the door and I’m tempted.
“How much?” I’m swallowing back bile at the thought of some woman in his life getting lingerie picked out by him, but he’s offering me two things I want: time with him and money. I wonder if the gift is for the redheaded wig shop owner. Jealousy is a terrible taste.
He looks inside for a minute and then back at me. “20 percent of the gross receipts.”
Holy crap. 20 percent of just one item could pay for dinner for a week if I was careful. I push down the jealousy and grab hold of opportunity. I gesture for him to open the door. “After you.”
A sales associate comes over before the door shuts behind us. She was probably watching the whole thing play out in front of the plate glass store windows. “Can I help you?” She looks from him to me and back again, unsure of who she should suck up to.
“No thanks,” he says. Then he gives her that glorious smile and she almost takes a step back under the power of it. It’s obvious he uses it as a weapon. He’s too knowing. I don’t like that about him at all. Knowing, arrogant, and engaged in criminal activities. All bad qualities.
“Pick anything you think she’d like.” He waves expansively at the walls. Bras and bralettes are hanging in a multitude of spring colors. All made of lace. There’s a ramp that leads downward to another section. I head back there just to get away from the sales associates.
“What’s she like?”
“Hmm?” He sounds distracted, and I realize it’s because he’s looking at my ass. I clear my throat. So he’s knowing, arrogant, and unfaithful. He grins at me unrepentantly, and I mentally slot him right next to Malcolm in the jerk column. No wonder they are going to do business with each other.
“B cup,” he says, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“I asked what she is like, not her size.”
“Don’t you need to know her size?” His eyebrow is raised and it makes me feel stupid, which I hate.
“Do you want my help or do you just want to argue?” I snap.
His grin gets wider, if that was even possible, and his eyes are twinkling. Or it could just be a glint of the sun because eyes can’t really twinkle or dance. I move farther into the store so that I can get out of the sunlight, which is apparently so bright it’s causing me to see things. He follows me closely as if he’s my loyal Labrador. As if.
“I want both,” he whispers behind me. When I whirl on him, he reels off a bunch of things in rapid fire. “I want colorful things, very sexy things, and also a few comfortable things. A whole wardrobe. I’m getting to know her, so I’m hopeful that something I buy will strike her fancy.”
Lucky bitch. "What’s my budget?"
"There’s no budget.”
Of course not. In revenge, I pick out a ton of stuff. I just go down the racks and pick out one of everything. Well, not everything but most things.
He’s following me and fingering a few items. His strong, tanned fingers look ridiculously sexy against the fragile satin bows. I squeeze my thighs together as I imagine those panties on my body and his fingers gliding all over them. You suck, I tell my body. Stop lusting after an unfaithful jerk.
"You wouldn’t be willing to try a few things on, would you?” His eyebrow is raised again. I wonder if he practices these looks in the mirror. Each one seems perfectly crafted to make a girl want to drop her shorts right then and there.
"You’re a dick, you know that right?” I ask.
“Why’s that?"
"Because you are flirting with me and buying lingerie for another woman. That’s the definition of a dick. In fact, if you looked it up in the dictionary, your face would be there.”
“They could be for my mom,” he says mildly. Jesus, does nothing offend this guy?
“Then you’ve got a weird thing going on with your mom.”
“Am I Oedipus instead of Batman today?”
I stare at him blankly. I have no idea who the f**k Oedipus is. I haven’t ever heard of the guy’s name before. Better that way, I think. Safer.
The sales associate is beaming at us. “So all of this?” Her arms are laden with tiny folded packages.
“All of it,” Ian says immediately.
As she is ringing it up, I start feeling terrible. The prices are so high and while I knew it when I walked in, the enormity of my spitefulness is sinking in. “Wait," I say. "I don’t think she needs all this.” I try to scoop away half of the loot.
He places his hand on mine and I’m frozen. “No. This is just the right amount.”
Both the sales lady and I are gaping at him. I’m completely torn now. Part of me is raging mad that some chick is getting this stuff and then I feel guilty for being petty and sad that I don’t have anyone buying underwear for me.
"Box it up,” he orders the clerk.
She does, folding each piece into its own separate tissue. Another associate brings a big, white box. Every piece goes into the gold-lined box and it takes three of them to wrap up the box with a bow and stick it in a bag.
“Anything else?” She gives him a card and writes her name on it. “Just give me a call. For anything at all.”
“Thanks, but I’m not taking it. I want it delivered.” He writes down the address. She starts to say it out loud but he reaches out and taps her lips. They fall open and I think I see her tongue creep out to lick his finger, but it falls away before she can get to it. I don’t blame her. I’d have wanted to lick the finger too. He’s a menace. He should be locked up.