Why am I cursed?
Zia stands there with bags hanging on his arm, all designer, just like the store I’m lingering in front of like a thief.
“What are you doing here?” I snap in accusation, and his eyebrows rise. Right, this is his turf. I’m the one who doesn’t belong. I want to kick myself.
“I’m scouting the competition. I’m building a shopping and lifestyle quarter on the other side of the city, and I fell into a little shopping.” He holds up his bags in meaning. His eyes scan me, and I stand taller, trying to stretch out the acid-washed hoodie as he glances at the shop behind me. Realization fills his eyes, and I want to run.
“Shopping,” I supply uselessly. “I wanted some new clothes.”
“Do you want my help?” he asks curiously. “You don’t need to change your style. It suits you.” He shrugs. “But I’ll help. I’m good at shopping.”
Kill. Me. Now.
Fuck, he might as well just pity me. I’m so fucked.
I hesitate, feeling ashamed, and that comes out as anger. “I can afford it. I can buy what I want.”
“I never said you couldn’t.” He frowns as he steps closer, eyeing me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. This isn’t his fault. He doesn’t know about those idiots growing up who relentlessly bullied me for being poor. My father did his best. I always had food and clothes, even if they weren’tthe newest brand or trend, but I was a happy kid. I was never ashamed of that, and I refuse to be now. We’ve fought our way up to a place where my dad is comfortable and doesn’t have to work three jobs just to provide for me.
I will not be ashamed of that, but I don’t see judgment in his eyes, and I realize I was projecting my own issues onto him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Most people assume I’m broke and can’t take care of myself. I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that.”
“It’s okay,” he replies, but I fidget under his knowing gaze. “Nikko, don’t do this for anyone else but you. If this is because of me . . . don’t. You look fucking good naked, never mind in clothes. I don’t care what you wear, how you act, or how you dress. I’m attracted to you for who you are. I have enough rich spoiled boys around me, and I don’t want that. I want you. I want something real.”
I jolt, my eyes widening at his brazen confession. This thing between us began the night we nearly kissed. It seems he isn’t backing down, and I don’t want him to. I like how bold he is and how he admits he wants me.
Maybe he’s not over his ex, maybe he will use and hurt me, but I can’t seem to care as his gaze holds mine prisoner as he waits for an answer.
“I think . . . I’d like to try though, just maybe one nice thing for myself,” I tell him. “I want to look good, not different?—”
“Just you.” He grins. “We can do that. Come on.” He loops his arm through mine like it’s natural and steers me back to the store. For someone who’s smaller than me, he moves me effortlessly, and I realize how strong he is. Most people can’t make me do anything I don’t want to, but one touch from Zia and I’m putty.
The door opens as we approach. The guard smiles welcomingly at Zia but eyes me. Zia ignores him and walks straight inside like it’s his home. The store is completely empty, with bright lights throwing everything into a runway kind of look. There are shelves dividing half the store, featuring bags and women’s accessories, and the female associates smile at us as a thin man hurries over, dressed in all black, with a fancy bag over his chest and a phone in his hand.
“Hi, sir, my name is Atom. Do you need any help today?” he asks Zia, accurately guessing he’s the one with the money.
“Follow us. We’ll be shopping.” Zia steers us past the jewelry counter and around to the men’s section. The sofas are low and white, and he tosses his shopping bags down, uncaring how expensive they are, then he eyes the racks before looking at me. “Just pick things you like and try them on. There’s no pressure. I want to see what style you like before I help.”
I eye him and Atom, and then I hesitantly move across the fluffy white carpet, feeling like I’m dirtying it, and start on the end rack. My eyes widen at the sheer shirts and suits, so I keep moving.
“Sir, would you like a drink? Coffee? Champagne?” Atom asks cheerfully.
“Water. Nikko, do you want some water?”
I glance back and nod, and Zia gestures to Atom, who disappears.
I turn to the racks, searching through them. A lot of them hold fancy sweaters or clothes I would never wear, so I keep moving until I come across hoodies and shirts. They feel so fucking soft and thick when I rub them between my fingers. I’ve always had this thing about how clothes feel. I end up cutting out the tag, but the material has to be soft or I feel wrong and annoyed wearing it.
Atom returns, and I down the water and hand the glass back as I continue to scan the racks, feeling huge and out of place in this delicate, pretty store, but Zia fits in perfectly. He was born for places like this, and it only reminds me just how different we are.
“Do you think they assume I’m your sugar daddy?” he teases, and I spin, practically falling into the clothes when I realize he’s so close, I could kiss him.
He smiles and leans in, like he knows my thoughts, and I swear my eyes shut, but he just reaches past me, plucks something out, and holds it to my chest before handing it backwards to Atom, who’s waiting eagerly behind him. “Give me that in every color and one to try on. Size . . . XL?” he asks.
I nod mutely, and Atom hurries away as Zia grins and steps back. “You should say thank you, Daddy, in that case.”
“Shut up,” I mutter as I turn away, blindly looking through the rack to calm myself down. He’s too close. He smells too good. He looks too good.
