A snort fills my head. ‘Of course not.’
Deciding to ignore them for now, I open the apartment door to find Betsy with a bag in each hand, grinning at me from the threshold.
“Bits? What are you doing here?” Not that she’s never been here before, but she never shows up without letting me know first.
“Well, I was out doing my shopping and it occurred to me that Flint might need some things. So I went ahead and got what I thought was most important and, of course, fabulous.”
“You didn’t have to do that–” Flint begins, only to be promptly steam rolled by Betsy and her enthusiasm.
“Of course I did!” She comes in, nimbly stepping over Calida without missing a beat, and makes herself at home, dropping the shopping bags between her and Flint on the couch. “Consider it a housewarming gift! Why — I’m a regular fairy godmother.” She throws her head back and laughs hugely, then she pats his leg and then begins pulling items out of the bag.
Shaking my head, I gather up the dishes and cart them to the kitchen to begin cleaning up. Flint cooked, so it’s only fair that I do KP duty. Not a problem, especially since Flint is apparently one of those unicorns who cleans up as he cooks. I generally end up with both responsibilities — unless I have yogurt or cookies for dinner — and it really was delicious. I don’t think I’veever had a man cook me dinner before. Not that I remember, anyway. Then again, there’s a lot I don’t remember.
I refuse to mope. Fuck that. Focus on the things I can control, right? Isn’t that what the smug therapy intern at the student health center told me the three times I visited? It was the one piece of advice she gave me that actually made any sense.
Locking my depressing thoughts away, I tune back in to what is transpiring on my couch between Flint and Betsy. She’s piled the table high with jeans, t-shirts, Henleys, and at least one hoodie. Thankfully, none of what she’s purchased appears to be in any of the clashing neon colors she gravitates towards for her own wardrobe.
Flint looks at the pile of purchases with amusement and some discomfort, whilst Betsy looks absolutely delighted with herself.
“I figured this way you have everything you need to get started at work. Shirts, pants, some of those athletic shorts, hoodies — it’s still chilly on and off this early in the spring. I think I got everything. There should be socks — yep, here they are.” She waves them triumphantly. Her face practically glows with delight.
“What about underwear?” I ask, noting the distinct lack of under garments in the piles.
Betsy’s grin is absolutely wicked. “Whoops.”
Betsy endsup staying for about an hour. Not only did she insist Flint try on the items she purchased “to make sure they fit” she also somehow goaded him into putting on a full fashion show in the living room. While he wasin one of his costume changes, she sent me down to her car to collect yet another bag of purchases from her trunk. I was taken aback by the weight but after the telltale clinking sounds, I’m pretty sure Betsy brought over half the local liquor store.
I get it up the stairs and into the apartment without dropping a bottle of wine on my toes (I’ve done it before, don’t ask). Hauling it to the kitchen, I place some of it in the fridge and call to Betsy to ask what she wants to drink. In response, she hoots. Turning around to see what the commotion is, I spot Flint coming out of the bathroom, his face once again aflame.
Holyfuck.
The jeans that Betsy chose were a medium wash, showcasing long legs, narrow hips and — my, oh my — Flint has a great ass. He’s paired them with a midnight blue Henley, which only serves to set the blue of his eyes off and does absolutely nothing to disguise the planes of his chest. He has the top two buttons undone, allowing more of the black swirls of his ink to show. He’s pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, showcasing the tan skin, tendons and veins of his very fucking attractive forearms. His hair is a mess, probably from the multiple outfit changes, the curls disheveled. My fingers ache to run through it.
“Oh!” Betsy clapped her hands, pressing them to her breasts, startling me enough that I almost ruin my streak of fortune and bobble the bottle of wine I’m holding. “You look mighty fine in those threads!”
I must have made some sound, because Flint turns those gorgeous eyes on me and gives me a smug smile. Beaming, Betsy also turns to me. “What do you think, Pumpkin?” she asks, slyly, smirking at me.
I clear my throat.
What am I supposed to say? What would her fictional women say? I’d ride that man until the wheels come off? I’m going to climb him like a tree? I want to rip those clothes off of him and let him do unspeakable, terrible things to my body? I want to bite his ass? I want to taste that sliver of his neck that’s on display?
Oh. Wait. She’s actually waiting for a response and the longer I’m silent, the slier her smirk becomes. Flint’s grin has widened, as well.
“You look good.” I try, lamely.
Good? What the fuck Casie? Get it together!Christ. Play it any cooler and this man won’t be able to help throwing himself at your feet.
“I mean, the clothes are great. It was really nice of you to bring them over, Bits. He looks great in everything you picked out.”
“I bet he looks even better in what I forgot!”
‘Please make her stop,’Calida begs in my mind.
I shake my head as Flint mutters something under his breath and looks at me for help.
“What did you want to drink, Bits? I was going to open a bottle of wine.”
“Nothing for me, pumpkin. Now that I know these clothes fit, I will just be on my way.”
