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“Okay.” She beams. “The trunk full of clothes comes in handy! Actually . . . Why do you keep those clothes in there, anyway? You’ve never told me.”
“It was just a habit. When I’d stay with girls . . . I mean, when I would be out all night, I’d need different clothes in the morning, and I never had them, so I just started keeping them in my trunk. It’s pretty convenient,” I explain.
Her lips are pursed slightly, and I know I shouldn’t have mentioned the other girls, even if they were before her. I wish she knew how it was then, how I would fuck them with no emotion. It wasn’t the same. I didn’t touch them the way I do her, I didn’t study every inch of their bodies, I didn’t revel in their shallow breathing and try to match mine to theirs, I didn’t desperately wait for them to say they loved me while I moved in and out of them.
I didn’t let them touch me in our sleep; if I even stayed in the same bed as them, it was because I was too drunk to move. It wasn’t anything like it is with her, and if she knew that, maybe knowing about them wouldn’t bother her. If I were her, I . . . Thoughts of Tessa fucking anyone else cloud my mind and make me nauseous.
“Hardin?” she says quietly, bringing me back to reality.
“Yeah?”
“Did you hear me?”
“No . . . sorry. What did you say?”
“You passed Target already.”
“Oh, shit, sorry. I’ll turn around.” I pull into the next parking lot and turn the car around. Tessa has an obsession with Target that I’ll never understand. It’s just like M&S back in London, only more expensive, and the employees are annoying as shit in their stupid red polos and khaki pants. But she always tells me, Target has great quality and a lot to choose from. I can’t say she’s wrong, but “big box stores” are still one of the things in America that make me feel most like the foreigner that I am.
“I’ll just run inside and get something,” Tessa says when I park the car.
“Are you sure? I can come.” I want to go with her, but I can’t insist on my presence, not tonight.
“If you want to . . .”
“I do,” I answer before she can finish.
WITHIN TEN MINUTES she has her basket nearly full of crap. She ended up getting a gigantic sweatshirt and some sort of spandex pants—she swears they’re not spandex, that they’re leggings, but damn if they don’t look like spandex to me. I try to stop picturing her in them as she grabs gloves, a scarf, and a hat. She acts like we’re going to fucking Antarctica; then again, it is pretty damn cold outside.
“I really think you should get some gloves, too. The ice is really cold, and when you fall your hands will freeze,” she says again.
“I’m not going to fall . . . but sure, I’ll get gloves if you insist.” I smile, and she returns it as she tosses a pair of black gloves into her basket.
“Do you want a hat?” she asks.
“No, I have a beanie in the trunk.”
“Of course you do.” She pulls the scarf out of the basket and hangs it back up.
“No scarf?” I ask her.
“I think I’ll be okay with all of this.” She points to the basket.
“Yeah, I’d say so,” I tease, but she ignores me and walks to the sock section. We’re going to be in this damn store all night.
Finally, Tessa says, “Okay, I’m done, I think.”
At the register, she tries to argue with me over paying for her stuff like she always does. But this is a date that I asked her on, so there’s no way in hell I’m letting her pay. To that sentiment, she just rolls her eyes a few times and takes out her purse and hands over her last bills to the clerk.
Is she running low on money? If she was, would she tell me? Should I ask her? Fuck, I’m thinking way too much into this.
By the time we get back to the lot where the skating is, Tessa’s ready to jump out of the car, but we need to change first. I change my clothes; she keeps her head turned and stares out the window the whole time. Afterward, I tell her “We can find a bathroom for you to change in.”
But she just shrugs. “I was just going to change in the car so I don’t have to carry my dress around.”
“No, there are too many people. Someone will see you undress.” I look around at the area of the parking lot where we are and it’s pretty empty, but still . . .
“Hardin . . . it’s fine,” she says with a little annoyance.
I should’ve stolen that stress ball I saw on my father’s desk last night. “If you insist,” I huff, and she tears the tags off of her new clothes.
“Can you help me unzip this before you get out?” she asks me.
“Erm . . . yeah.” I reach across the center console, and she lifts her hair up to allow me access to the zipper. I have unzipped this dress countless times, but this is the first time that I won’t be able to touch her as she slides it down her arms.
“Thank you. Now wait outside,” she instructs.
“What? It’s not like I haven’t—” I start to say.
“Hardin . . .”
“Fine. Hurry up.” I get out of the car and close the door. What I just said was rude, I realize. I open the door quickly and lean down. “Please,” I add and close it again.
I can hear her laughing inside the car.
Minutes later she climbs out and her hands comb through her long hair before she pulls a purple beanie down over her head. When she joins me on the other side of the car, she looks . . . cute. She always looks beautiful and sexy, but something about the giant sweatshirt, hat, and gloves makes her look even more innocent than usual.