“Okay. It’s up to you.”
She stops and turns to me, reaching up and taking my face in her hands. Her eyes shine beneath the streetlamp. They’re so clear, so unguarded. Her willingness to be so honest and vulnerable with me—that she trusts me this much—is baffling.
“You are a good one, Brooks. I hope you know that.”
“Stop it,” I whisper, grinning at her. “People are watching.”
Her laughter dances through the air. “Where’s thatwho cares what people thinkattitude now?”
“I left it at the house.” I wink, dipping my mouth to capture hers. She lifts her chin and meets me halfway, guiding my lips to hers. Her touch is so gentle but reassuring in a way that I don’t want to spend too much time considering.
Her lips are pillows and her breath tinged with an after-dinner mint, and my heart swells so large that it rattles my ribs. I don’t know what to do with this. Just chalk it up to a beautiful girl fucking with my brain and knowing it’ll dissipate as soon as we go our separate ways, I guess.
I’m merely a mortal fighting against an angel, after all.
I lean back, pulling her into a tight hug, when my gaze lands on a little shop I didn’t see on our way to Paramount. It’s smaller than the tattoo shop, with a white picket fence separating it from the sidewalk. In the window, in pink fluorescent lights, the wordintimois written in script. It hangs above a mannequin dressed in a robe, flocked by two garment racks loaded with what looks like women’s attire.
“Hey,” I say. “Look back there.”
She glances over her shoulder, confused until she finds the target. “Oh.”
“Wanna?” I tease. “It’s on the list.”
“I don’t want to buy lingerie with you.” She shoves me playfully, laughing. “No way.”
I huff. “And why the hell not?” I pull her into me again, burying my face into the crook of her neck. “I know this body better than anyone at this point. Do you disagree?”
She moans softly as I press a kiss to the bend of her shoulder.
“That’s my point,” I say.
Her nervousness is adorable. I know she hates being embarrassed and shy, but it’s one of my favorite things about her. Not that she’s so self-conscious, necessarily, but more that she’s so aware of others. She just needs to learn to be aware of them and then tell them to fuck off when necessary.
“Let’s just look,” I say. “It’s not like we have anything else to do.”
“Well, I could think of a few things.”
“We’re on the same page,” I say, taking her hand and heading to the shop. “We’re just taking different paths to get there.”
She groans to make her point but follows along with no struggle. I open the gate on the fence, and then we traipse up the small set of stairs. A buzzer beeps as we enter the store.
“Hello,” a woman says with bright red hair. She must be in her fifties with glasses and a sharp black jacket. “I’m Darla. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” I say, ignoring Darla’s blush.
Audrey takes my hand again, following me to the displays. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Get over it. I owe you a pair since I ripped the others off you, remember?”
Darla drops a stack of magazines behind us at the desk.
We take our time, winding through the displays of women’s lingerie. I had no idea there were this many styles to choose from. Some of the more risqué ones I’d give my left arm to see Audrey wear for me, but I’m pretty sure it’s too much, too soon.
And soon is all we have.
I swallow, stopping at a headless mannequin. I touch the edge of the wine-colored garment she’s wearing. “This is hot.”
“I’m not paying eighty dollars for that.”
