Emma’s gaze drops to our joined hands. She scoffs and turns away toward the racks of clothing.
When I look down at Brielle, she’s watching Emma’s retreating figure, lips pressed into a thin line, before she pulls her hand free from mine.
“What’s wrong?” I turn to face her fully, bringing my hand up and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She pulls back slightly, chin lifting like she’s bracing for something.
Oh, I see—is she’s jealous?
“That look,” I say, “I know that look.” I can’t keep the teasing out of my voice.
She finally meets my gaze and replies. “You don’t know anything, Emris.”
I grin. “You gonna tell me you aren’t jealous?”
“I’m not,” she snaps, crossing her arms. “I’m just annoyed that I have to do this. I hate shopping.”
God, she’s so fucking cute when she’s mad.
I lean in, voice low enough so only she can hear. “Funny because you’re standing a lot closer and were gripping my hand a tad too tight for someone who isn’t jealous.”
“You’re imagining things,” she scoffs.
“Maybe I am.” I smile. “Or maybe you don’t like anyone thinking they have a shot with me.”
“She doesn’t.” Her eyes flash with anger.
I chuckle softly, pleased with her reactions. “Correct. She doesn’t.” I wrap an arm around her waist casually for everyone to see, and her body stiffens but she doesn’t try to move away this time.
“Relax, Brielle. If I wanted her attention, I wouldn’t have my arms wrapped around you, and I definitely wouldn’t be taking you shopping.”
“I said I hate shopping.” She exhales through her nose, annoyed with me even more, but the tension in her shoulders eases slightly.
She’s softening.
“You’ll love it with me, I promise.”
She breaks out of my hold and shoves at my chest. “You’re fucking insufferable.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re jealous?—”
”I’m not jealous!”
A throat clears behind us.
Emma forces a smile. “I found some options. They are in the dressing room,” she tells Brielle.
My girl, however, doesn’t say anything—only glares—but proceeds to follow.
“Perfect.” Brielle gives Emma and me a fake-ass smile before stalking off.
Emma shows her to the dressing room and leaves us to it, and reluctantly, I let her go in the stall alone.
“I want to see every outfit,” I tell her, but she ignores me, closing the door behind her.
It doesn’t take long before she steps out after having the first outfit on.
It’s simple, but she makes it look fucking extravagant—black jeans that hug her hips perfectly, paired with a simple deep red V-neck.
“Red is definitely your color,” I muse, my tongue moving across my bottom lip as I take her in, wanting to strip her out of every inch of fabric and fuck her without any care of who’s around.
