“Like Macy’s?”
“Um…sure,” I lied. “Like Macy’s.”
I grabbed the hoodie I’d packed for him. Bodhi had lost interest in Marshalls and was again marveling at his transformation in the rearview mirror.
“Here, put this on and cover your head.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“First, I don’t want to mess up the do’ and second, that sweatshirt’s baby blue.”
“So?”
“And it’s a woman’s cut. Not a chance I’m putting that on. I draw the line at Twilight attire. Besides, no one’s going to recognize me with shit clothes and short hair.”
“I didn’t give you a face transplant. It won’t take much for you to be recognized. If you won’t wear the sweatshirt then, here, at least put this on.” I handed him a surgical-style facemask I’d grabbed from the salon, the kind we used for smelly perms. Today it would double as both a disguise and protection from the smoky elements.
“Fuck me,” he exclaimed. “This just keeps getting better. I honestly embarrass myself.”
I watched in amusement as he secured the mask over his mouth.
“Now I look like Michael Jackson… if he were an unfashionable white guy. Hey Breeze?”
“Yes?”
“On a scale from one to ten, how attracted are you to me right now?”
I laughed. It was true, Bodhi Beckett had seen better days. But his flirty banter was doing a number on my insides and, even looking like he did, I still found him indescribably hot. “Eleven point five, baby.”
“Hot damn, let’s go shopping!”
* * *
There are apparently two ways to shop. One was for rich people and the other was for average Joes.
“This is not Macy’s,” Bodhi said as he got his first look at the bargain aisle.
“I never said it was.”
“But you implied as much.”
“That was just to get you in here and now that you are, I’m giving you that taste of the normalcy you crave. Now, do you want to complain or do you want to shop?”
Suppressing a smile, he stomped his foot like an insolent toddler. “Shop.”
I laughed, pointing him in the direction of the shoe department. But first he needed a cart—to ride. What he didn’t factor into the equation was the tip radius of the smaller than average shopping cart. The minute his weight was added to the bar below the rolling contraption, the opposite end popped up and nearly toppled over on top of him.
I took control of the navigation from that point on. Which was a good thing, because the minute he got to the shoe aisle he lost track of reality.
“Oh my god. Can you believe the prices?” he asked, perusing the labels in the higher price range.
I peeked over his shoulder at the $49.95 tag. Good lord! What was it made out of —whale penis?
“So damn cheap,” he marveled, ignoring my obvious shock. “This place is the shit!”
Obviously, we had different definitions of cheap. After trying on a dozen pair of shoes, Bodhi dumped four boxes into our cart and started off to the clothing section.
