“She also called me your girl,” I murmur, feeling the heat bloom in my cheeks.
He shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Maybe she’s got good instincts.”
I roll my eyes and pretend to focus on the clothes, even though I’m fully aware of him watching me. Each time I shift, I can feel his gaze following me, his attention so heavy it’s almost a tangible thing. It stirs something inside me, but I force myself to pretend to be all about the jeans, flicking through hangers like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
I’m pleasantly surprised when I find jeans in my size. Three pairs, actually, all in shades I’ll actually wear. I grab them, my fingers grazing the soft fabric before I move onto the undergarments. To my surprise, there’s a pretty wide variety, each piece more daring than the last.
I glance at Sherry, who’s watching us with a knowing smile. Lowering my voice to Sam, I say, “Sherry must have a lingerie fetish.”
Sam’s eyes flicker to the delicate lace I’m holding up, then back to me, his gaze darkening with interest. “Darlin’, I thinkIhave a lingerie fetish.”
Biting back a laugh, I lift a pink set, the lace delicate and teasing. “This?”
He groans, low and throaty, and I can practically feel the heat of his reaction. “You’re trying to kill me.”
I smile, enjoying the effect I have on him more than I should. I get six sets and then move on to the shirts, picking through the soft fabrics with a calm I don’t really feel. Sam steps up beside me, and his hand hovers over a shirt before pulling it from the rack.
“Try this one,” he says, voice low, like he’s daring me to give it a shot. “It’ll make your eyes pop.”
I hold the shirt up, inspecting it for a second, then glance at him with a playful grin. “You mean it’ll be easy to take off.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. His smile curves into something too confident, too sure. “Not mutually exclusive.”
The tension between us hums, sizzling in the air. I hold the shirt for a beat longer, teasing him with a slow glance before heading to the tiny fitting room behind a faded curtain.
As I disappear behind the fabric, I swear I hear one of the old-timers at the bar mutter under his breath, “That’s the first time I’ve seen Sam smile like that in years.”
18
Almost everything I try on fits, which feels like a small miracle. I step out from behind the curtain with a grin tugging at my lips, arms full of folded denim, soft cotton, undergarments, and one particularly daring lace set I swore I wasn’t going to get until Sam looked at it like it might undo him.
Sherry looks up from behind the counter. “Everything work out?”
“Yeah,” I say, still smiling as I set the pile on the counter. “Somehow this place has everything I didn’t know I needed.”
Sam’s already there, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet like he’s done it a thousand times before.
“I’ll pay you back once I get my card,” I say automatically, reaching for the clothes.
But he just shakes his head. “It’s a gift.”
My heart stutters, catching on the unexpected softness behind the words.
Before I can say anything, Phern swoops in and dumps afew extra items onto the growing pile. “Buy me a gift, too, brother.”
Liam follows behind her, tossing in a pack of socks and a neon orange hoodie that says GET BUCKED. “I like gifts.”
Sam groans, rubbing the back of his neck with a grin that’s equal parts exasperated and affectionate. “Jesus. I created monsters.”
Sherry’s laughing as she rings everything up, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Guess love really does make you generous.”
Sam glances sideways at me, his hand brushing against mine as he passes over a few bills. “She’s worth it.”
And just like that, I’m warm all over again. Flushed, yes, but something deeper too. Like I’m being chosen in a place I never expected to feel seen.
Sherry bags everything with the efficiency of someone who’s done this a thousand times, then waves us toward the other half of the building. “Bar’s open. Go on and get yourselves a drink while I finish tallying this circus.”
The four of us head to the other side of the room, which is darker and warmer despite sharing the same space. There’s a fire crackling in a stone hearth near the back wall, and the wood-paneled bar is lined with mismatched stools. A couple of locals sit nursing beers, cowboy hats tipped low, like they’re half-asleep or halfway to drunk. Maybe both.
