Another unexpected laugh escapes before I can help it. “Booty cooties?”
She smirks. “Crotch crickets, dirty deed receipts, freaky freebies? I imagine you’ve heard of sexually transmitted diseases in your line of work.”
“No cooties,” I confirm, ignoring the way my cheeks heat. “But my boxers are definitely going to be too big for you.”
“You know what they say about men who wear big undies, don’t you?” she replies, quirking an eyebrow. I roll my eyes and shake my head, and she continues. “I’ll make them work. Get to stripping.” Sheslaps me on the thigh and gestures to the restroom sign a few aisles down.
Reluctantly, I rise to my feet and shuffle off, leaving her snickering to herself on the floor before I duck into the men’s restroom to remove my underwear. Maybe if I hurry, I won’t have time to wrap my mind around the idea of Claire’s soft, sexy curves being nestled within my underpants. Tripping over my pants leg and nearly falling serves as a decent distraction from the improper thoughts, but only for a second. The feeling of my dress slacks against my skin makes me cringe as I pull up on the zipper. Claire was right before—easy breezy isn’t my style. Plus, I could really use the extra layer of support in my current predicament.
Claire grins up at me when I return, and I take it she’s expecting me to carry her around again when I see her shoes resting on the floor beside her. Still, I can’t help smiling and blushing when I retrieve the boxer briefs from my pocket.
“My lady,” I say, holding out my offering and bowing.
She chortles as she takes the underwear, and I worry for a second that was too corny. “If this doesn’t entitle you to a kiss, I don’t know what will,” she muses as she slides her bare feet into the shorts.
“Wait, aren’t you going to change in the bathroom?” I whisper harshly when she rises to her feet, ignoring her flirty reply.
“What for? Everyone in this aisle has already seen my goodies by now,” she replies nonchalantly and drags the waistband up over her hips. She tugs at her dress, and I force myself to look away and take a moment to scratch at my neck again.
“All right. I’m piggyback ready,” she declares, modeling the shorts.
I pretend I’m too concerned with finding a pack of generic diphenhydramine to avoid glancing in her direction and risking my body’s reaction to the sight of her in my underwear. “Um, would you mind if we applied some of that cream before we go, at least around my neck? I’m getting pretty uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, sure,” she says distantly, taking a box from my hands and opening it up.
I nod gratefully before turning and crouching down, and shespreads some of the hydrocortisone cream over my skin. In a small twist of good luck, she has to move the cord of my scapular off to the side before rubbing in the medicine, and it serves as both a distraction from her touch and a wake-up call for my conscience.
“Better take another dose of Benadryl while you’re at it,” she tells me as she opens up the bottle and hands me another shot of pink liquid.
Once we’re done, she gathers our things and hops into place on my back. I wait for her to crack another joke or dig her heels into me as if I were a horse, but she’s quiet on the ride to retrieve the EpiPen prescription from the pharmacist and then to self-checkout. I reach up, and she hands over the cream without a word. She doesn’t even reply to my strained apology for brushing against her thighs in the process of digging my wallet out of my pocket, and when I glance up at the security camera, I find her looking disappointed.
“Anything else?” I venture before I complete our transaction, gesturing toward the candy shelf. She sees me watching her through the monitor and shakes her head.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she says with a soft smile. But it’s obvious I’ve done something to hurt her feelings in the last couple of minutes.
“Claire?”
“Hmm?”
I scoff, annoyed with the delay after trying to communicate through the screen, and turn to set her down on the small checkout counter. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head again, but the way she’s blinking back the moisture in her eyes gives her away.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I continue, leaning in closer and planting my hands on either side of her.
“I’m fine,” she repeats with a sniffle. “I’m just … silly.”
My brow furrows in concern, and I think I’d do anything to keep her from looking this sad ever again. “Tell me.”
She turns her eyes down. “I guess I thought you wanted …” Her shoulders rise and fall in a dejected shrug before she looks up and forces another fake smile. “Never mind.”
It takes another second for me to understand what she means. She’s upset because she gave me another opening a minute ago, and I blew right past it in the name of stifling my inappropriate thoughts.
I swallow hard. “You’re not silly.”
“Seriously? Look at me right now,” she says, gesturing over the current state of her outfit. Her smile grows more genuine as she continues. “I’m sitting here, dressed like a homeless person,bouderingin the middle of the CVS because you don’t want …”
She trails off when I use my knuckle to lift her chin. “You look amazing in my boxers. And I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more than I want to kiss you right now,” I blurt out, to my own astonishment.
