“Did you take all my clothes out of the closet?”
“I did,” I say, peeking into the bag.
The smell of chorizo and fresh salsa hit me like a delicious punch to the face.
“Why are there two piles?”
I grab two tacos, along with one of the little tubs of salsa. “Why doyouthink there are two piles?”
He quirks a brow. “Looks like you’re trying to throw away half of my clothes.”
“Oh good,” I say, taking my time to carefully unwrap the dripping deliciousness. “So glad I didn’t have to explain that to you.”
I also called in a favor for the reversed faucets because my man deserves good plumbing.
He kisses the back of my neck. “You can’t throw away half of my clothes,” he grouses as he digs around for his tacos. “The department frowns on nudity.”
“There will be no nudity. We’re going thrifting after breakfast,” I explain through a big bite of taco. “Though I suppose this is really lunch.”
Swear to God, this is the best chorizo I’ve ever had in my mouth.
“You seem way too excited about that.”
“The thrifting or the tacos?”
“Both.”
I wink. “One of my good buddies owns a massive thrift shop on South Lamar, and it’s going to change your life.”
“I know I agreed to let you dress me, but I can’t afford to replace half of my wardrobe, Mav. Even thrifted.”
My smile broadens, supremely confident. “Don’t worry about it. My friend owes me a favor.”
“So is this how it’s going to be?” Boone asks, doing a shit job of hiding his grin. “You just toss your money and influence around, and I’m supposed to accept it?”
“Basically.” I lean across the table to kiss him. “I’ve posted from his shop, like a dozen times, and every single time, he gets run over and sells out of everything. A couple of basics for my hot, hot boyfriend will not hurt his feelings.”
“How do you know that? Did you ask him?”
I hold up my phone, wiggling it at him. “Idid. He’s excited to meet the guy who set my social media on fire for all of thirty seconds.”
“Is he hot, this thrift store friend of yours?”
“As a matter of fact, he is.”
Boone chews slowly, his glare entirely unconvincing.
“Thankfully, his wife agrees.”
He wrinkles his nose, swallowing the last of his first taco. “Okay,fine.”
“Knew you’d see it my way,” I say, polishing off my second taco with a moan. “God, these taste like somebody’s grandmother made them.”
“Which is why I always get extra,” he says, shaking the bag.
I’m diving in for another taco when we’re interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Maintenance.”
