Cecily's head snaps to the man, now only a few feet from her. She clocks him, gazes at him with a face full of disinterest for a solid two seconds, then looks away. I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of Cecily's glares. It should be enough to send a man scurrying.
But of course, this is not just any man. This is someone who believes he is entitled to Cecily's attention. He grins at the side of her face, and it's downright lecherous. Well, damn. I've never killed a man, but I suppose there is a first for everything.
"Sugar, how'd you know I like it when women play hard to get?"
The muscles in Cecily's back bunch, and then her shoulders square. "Just yesterday I was thinking about how it's been too long since the human equivalent of a foul stench hit on me. Thanks for bringing me up-to-date."
Her voice is jaunty and laced with venom. It takes the man a moment to process what she has said, but not me. I hold an advanced degree in Cecily's razor-tongued remarks.
His face turns from ugly to uglier.
My feet are moving, apparently of their own volition because I don't remember thinking about walking. I'm in motion, skirting the end of an aisle with a large candy display, and then I'm there, at Cecily's side. Wrapping an arm around her trim waist, I press a kiss to the side of her head. Somewhere in the back of my mind I register how good she smells, but I can't spend more than a nanosecond on the thought.
"Hey, babe," I say against her head. "Which flavor did you decide on?"
Cecily melts into my chest. She fits me. So perfectly. Her dips, my curves. Concave and convex.
She looks up. A soft breath comes from her parted lips. Her brown eyes hold gratitude, and then give way to something else. Something stronger, less inhibited. Something I know she does not want to feel.
"A fire drill," she finally answers. "A little of every flavor."
"I hope you plan on sharing." I drag two knuckles along her jaw.
The tiniest hard breath escapes her, and if I weren't this close, I'd never hear it.
"Twenty on pump three," I hear from somewhere behind me. The lecher, I'm assuming. The bell above the door dings, signaling his exit.
I step away from Cecily. Not that I want to, because I absolutely do not, but Cecily's already dealt with one asshole thinking he has a right to her space. She doesn't need a second man trying to take what isn't his.
"Thank you," she says, grabbing the largest plastic cup from its sleeve under the counter. "He was going to be a handful."
"I am your husband," I remind her, palming the very beginning of stubble that runs over my cheeks. "I promised to protect you."
"You sure did," Cecily murmurs, stepping up to the first nozzle and positioning her cup beneath. She goes down the line, creating a layered drink that likely tastes like sweetened battery acid.
When she finishes securing the top, we make our way to the cashier. Cecily snags two more items just before we get to the checkout counter. I do the same. A bottle of water and Corn Nuts.
The cashier says very little other than a mandatory and lackluster greeting. I press my credit card to the reader, andwhen we step out into the midday sun, Cecily stops out of the way of the door and says, "Thank you. We should probably take turns paying. Unless we're in front of my family, then you can pay, and I'll pay you back."
I'm already shaking my head before she finishes her sentence. "No. Sorry. I'm old-fashioned."
"Are you sure about that?" She nods her head at Bernice. "Don't I appear to have deep pockets?"
"Are you flush with cash?"
"No. I don't accept money from my parents. Or my grandma, though I will admit she loaned me the money to put a deposit down on my apartment."
How do I explain to Cecily that although she is my wife in name only, this is important to me? Tightening my grip on my bottle of water, I say, "I didn't grow up with a lot, and it embarrassed me. Not that I didn't have things, but that I couldn't invite a friend out to dinner." Never mind how infrequently we went out to a restaurant.Overpriced,my dad would declare.Shit service, shit food, and tiny portions. I remember wondering why he would want bigger portions of shit food.
Cecily's face softens. Her head tilts. She's listening intently.
"It matters to me that I pay for you, ok? Whether that's wrong, or right, I don't know." I shrug. "I only know that it matters to me."
"Ok." Cecily nods. "I was trying to buy a present for your heroics in there, but since you paid for it, I guess I'll say that I picked it out for you."
She holds out her hand, and in her open palm lies a rectangular-shaped yellow lollipop. Suspended in the center of the candy is a small scorpion.
"The choices in there weren't exactly robust," Cecily says, offering the kind of smile I've yet to see on her face before now. Bashful.
