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“Now you’re talking my language.”

14

Tatum

“The French knicker in white,the black teddy, and the cheekies.” He points at the table and then rubs his thumb over his bottom lip in contemplation. After putting enough thought into it to solve world hunger, he snaps his fingers and turns to me. “I think you need all four colors of the cheekies.”

He actually was talking lingerie language.

Who knew that Harrison Decker was an aficionado when it came to lingerie and undergarments?

From the couch where I’ve been lounging for the last thirty minutes while he worked with the sales associate, I point at my chest. “Me?”

Seemingly confused, he replies, “Yes you. What do you think?”

“Oh, I didn’t know you wanted my opinion on what lingerie I should buy for myself.

“Ha-ha.” There is no chuckle to accompany the words. “I thought I was helping.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. It’s a tic that Harrison has when he’s trying to give room for other opinions. I’m a quick study when it comes to him.

Joining him at the counter, I eye the pieces he narrowed it down to. “Helping? You’re a bull in a china shop.” Picking up the turquoise cheekies, I discard them to the far side of the counter. I bring the silk thong back into the mix and then push the pile forward to be rung up. Leaning against the counter, I ask him, “Why do you have such a vested interest in what I’m wearing under my clothes anyway?”

He clears his throat and glances to the saleswoman. Bleached blond with her hair twisted back into a chignon. Messy modern, but still elegant. Later thirties, if I had to guess. Plunging neckline that reveals a hint of a lace garment underneath. Very slender. I mentally note that she doesn’t have birthing hips, the term my grandmother once used when referring to how mine will come in handy one day.

I balk at that memory. Me and a baby.That’d be crazy.

Rubbing a hand over my rounded hip, I start to wonder if she’s his type, the type of woman he dates in California?

Her eyes don’t meet mine but go to him when the total is announced. “That will be eight hundred and thirty-seven dollars and twenty-three cents. Will that be cash or charge?”

Whipping my hand through the air, I make a whoosh sound as I hand the card over. I’d failed to notice his was already on the counter. Pulling it back across the slick surface, I inform him, “I’m buying my underwear.”

He pushes the card forward again. “Okay, then I’ll buy the teddy and the knickers.”

“Why would you be buying me anything in this store, Harrison? Or any store for that matter?”

“Wishful thinking?”

“Are you asking if you’re ever going to see these on me?”

“I’m hopeful.” He is—his eyes, that grin that’s tipping into a smirk, and the confidence that’s always there in his body’s frame.

“It’s funny you say that when I didn’t know where we stood after this morning. You got the worst of me.” My gaze travels back to his black credit card just before she snatches it.

“On your card, sir?” she asks.

“I’m here, by the way. Standing right here and able to buy my own freaking overpriced underwear.”

Jerking back as though I insulted her, she says, “I think I’ll let you two work this out.”

As soon as she walks away, I say, “You do realize she’s hitting on you, right?” I shake my head in annoyance. “Like I’m not standing right here.”

“The best revenge,” he offers conspiratorially, “is to let me buy you these things like a good boyfriend. She’ll be none the wiser to our plan.”

“What plan is that? It’s underwear. She’ll probably think you’re bankrolling an affair. And definitely have no respect for me.”

“Why do you need her respect?”

Good question. “I don’t need it,” I lie. “I’m just saying?—”