Page 66 of What Remains

Before I can answer, she presses the sweater to my chest to hold, and she pushes up on her toes for my hat. She tosses it onto a nearby table, then ruffles up my hair with one hand, making me acutely aware I’m in need of a barber. Maybe Carter even has one here on standby, too? I mean, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“I’m digging this look.” Her fingers continue to slide into my hair and every muscle in my body locks.

I snatch her wrist with my free hand. “Thanks.” I need her to stop playing with my damn hair. New turn-on unlocked. Awesome.

I tighten my grip, and her pulse jumps under my thumb. Something primitive in my chest responds. A strange need to draw her closer takes hold of me. The desire to calm her heart and mine. Or maybe . . . do the opposite. Make both race even more.

“Gotta get your fingers out of my hair so I can put this thing on.”

“Gotta let go of my wrist so I can back away,” she sasses back, then secures her lip between her teeth.

Fuck. Does this shop sell gum? I could use something to bite into.

My eyes fixate on her bottom lip, and . . . Double fuck.

I finally release her and pull the sweater over my head.

She adjusts the zipper—apparently, I only know my way around yokes and rifles, nothing as complex as a zipper—then steps back to appreciate the look, hands resting on her hips and head cocking to one side. “We need this in more than one color.”

“One is already too many.” I unzip it and peel it over my head, because it’s too damn hot in here for this thing.

“How about a hoodie?” She points to another table, already moving on.

“Do you plan on stealing it from me?”

She spins around, clutching the black hoodie to her chest. “Depends.”

“On?”

“If it smells like you.”

My brain stalls. Hearing her say that does something to me it shouldn’t.

Then she has to go and send me an air kiss, the little tease.

I’m officially forced to do a quick recap of the top reasons why I should not get turned on by her: Wyatt’s daughter. She was born in this millennium and I’m a relic from the late nineteen hundreds. ’87 to be exact. She just survived hell. I might be a monster, because killing those men felt good. I glance at the camera, knowing Malachi might have eyes on us, too. We’re not technically alone.

I wait for those reminders to do their job and shove me back into the cold space I’ve lived in for years—a.k.a. the friend zone. It’s the only place I can ever be if I’m really going to be back in her life for good. Not even as her protector, just as a friend.

The problem is those warnings aren’t working. Her distracted happiness in styling me is contagious, keeping me stuck in place.

“Well, um, we’ll get the hoodie in two colors,” she begins, her voice far too sexy and breathy for me to handle, “just in case I need to borrow one.”

She adds a black and gray one to the pile of shit she expects me to charge to my room. Who doesn’t need a⁠—

I check the price tag.

A hundred and thirty Euros for a hoodie? Fak.

Before I know it, she’s picked out a whole new wardrobe, including shorts to swim in. Though, she did hold up a pair of red speedos right in front of my crotch just to drive me nuts.

At this point, I won’t even need my dad to ship anything. I also might need a second job—or better combat pay—to survive this woman.

To be fair, Carter pays me damn well. I’m just trying to save that money for my own piece of land.

“I think that’s it,” she finally says while heading to the front register. “Oh perfect. They have gum.” She tosses a pack of Spearmint onto the counter, and I add four more.

She begins to ring me up, then has the audacity to try to charge it to her room.