“Fine. You can buy me underwear and lube. But that’s it.”
He smirks and opens the door. “We’ll see.”
“And can we make this quick so we can get to the jacuzzi tub, please?”
This department store is worse than I thought. I feel underdressed just walking through the doors.
A woman in heels and lipstick that probably cost more than my borrowed jeans gives us a practiced smile and calls Beck “sir”, clearly recognizing which one of us she should be kissing up to.
Beck is in his element, stalking through tables of folded shirts, simply pointing to things that the woman and a sales assistant scramble to set aside in the sizes he specified before we begin. I had to be measured. For t-shirts and underwear. What kind of ridiculous bullshit is that?
He’s going way overboard, but whenever he catches me glaring, he grins and says, “basics.” As if anyone really needs a shirt that costs more than my family’s monthly utility bill. My brain is mentally calculating the tally on the items that are clearly my size and not his, and it’s making me sweat.
From the shoe department, I notice some other stores in the interior part of the mall that I’m more familiar with, specifically an adult novelty store that gives me an idea.
“I’m going to run into that store over there. I’ll meet you back here?”
“Oh, sure,” he says absentmindedly, holding up a pair of designer sneakers. “Do you like these?”
“Sure don’t. Be right back.”
“Take my card!” he calls after me.
“Eat my ass!” I respond and cackle like Ms. Delia when the sales assistant gasps, scandalized, and Beck turns several shades of my favorite color.
By the time I’ve returned from visiting two different stores, Beck is only just checking out. My eyes nearly bug out at the total, watching Beck pay without blinking twice. So casually, he definitely didn’t have to calculate his bank balance before he handed over his card the way I did when I paid for the three small items I bought. I went into the adult novelties shop because I thought of a fun gift idea, then went ahead and got lube and condoms while I was there to save time. On the way back, I got distracted by something else I decided I had to have even though I really shouldn’t have spent the money.
“What’d you get?” Beck asks, gesturing to my tiny bag.
“The supplies,” I say. “I figured you were going to take forever and I’m ready for that bubble bath now.”
Beck’s eyes flash, and he takes my hand right there in front of the salespeople, even after my crass language embarrassed him. He practically drags me to the car, as if I’m the one who’s been holding us up. He lets go to stash the bags in the trunk, then takes my hand again as he pulls out of the mall parking lot and drives across the city.
When we arrive at a hotel that looks like a modern art installation, he stops his car right in front of the doors.
“We’re staying here?” I hiss as Beck walks around the car.
He hands the valet his keys and tip, then turns back to me, offering his hand like he’s escorting royalty. “Come on, Miller,” he says. “Let me spoil you.”
I’m too busy watching his hand to argue. The hand-holding feels more like being spoiled than the hotel, if I’m being honest. There’s something about the way he’s holding my hand so casually that is making me feel lightheaded and giddy.
I let him tug me into the lobby. It’s opulent in a way I’ve never experienced before. I’m halfway through wondering what we’re supposed to do with all our bags when I realize there’s a bellhop behind us with a trolley stacked with all of Beck’s shopping bags, including the small matte black bag full of my purchases.
I can’t help it. I laugh.
“What?” Beck asks, amused eyes sparkling back at me.
“Nothing,” I whisper. “I just… having an actual bellhop carry our lube and condoms is kind of ridiculous, that’s all.”
He chokes. The bellhop studiously pretends he didn’t hear, but his cheeks definitely flush.
The second the bellhop has been tipped and the door to our room closes behind us, Beck is on me.
His mouth crashes into mine like he’s been holding back all day. His hands are everywhere—my jaw, my back, tugging at my hoodie, skating under my T-shirt to find skin.
I respond in kind, tearing his clothes from him like I’m feral.
We stumble backwards, bumping into the dresser, the edge of the bed, each other. Somewhere in there my hoodie ends up on the floor, his sweater gets half pulled over his head and stuck, and we both laugh into each other’s mouths as I help him wrestle out of it.
