Page 87
Story: Sinfully Yours
I bat my lashes. "Shopping."
His expression darkens like I just said tax evasion. "No."
"Yes."
"Ava."
I smile sweetly. "Liam."
He stares me down, but I just stare right back. Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, he mutters, "This is going to be painful, isn't it?"
I beam. "Excruciating."
And then I drag him out the door.
I thrive in chaos.
Shopping with Liam Carter? Absolute gold mine of entertainment.
He looks so out of place among the racks of designer clothes and overly enthusiastic salespeople, his broad frame stiff, his face set in a permanent scowl. I, meanwhile, am having the time of my life.
The boutique I drag him into is all sleek lighting and minimalistic decor, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and champagne offered at the door. I accept a flute just for the theatrics of it, swirling the bubbles dramatically as I circle Liam like a shark.
"What about this?" I hold up a deep blue dress—silky, draped in a way that's both elegant and risky.
Liam arches a brow. "You're trying to kill me."
I wink. "You'd die happy."
He mutters something under his breath but doesn't argue.
While I pick out way too many outfits, I make Liam try things on too just for fun. He looks obscenely good in everything.
"You are the worst," he grumbles as I make him twirl.
But I see the smallest hint of a smirk.
At one point, I grab a leather jacket off a display. It's sleek, buttery-soft, and a perfect shade of dark gray.
He frowns. "Ava?—"
"Let me buy it for you." I roll my eyes. "You'll love it. I know things."
He sighs but eventually—finally—relents, letting me slip it over his broad shoulders. And when I step back?
Yeah. I did good.
"You look unfairly hot," I declare.
Liam exhales sharply. "You're exhausting."
I just grin.
By the time we leave, my arms are full of bags, Liam looks delicious in his new jacket, and I feel like I just won a gold medal in emotional terrorism.
Absolutely iconic behavior.
Back at Liam's loft, we set our bags down and Liam makes me a cup of sweet milk tea. As I sip on it and he inhales his coffee, I turn to look at Liam, really look at him, standing there in his too-expensive suit, wearing a jacket I picked out, and my heart does a stupid, stupid thing.
His expression darkens like I just said tax evasion. "No."
"Yes."
"Ava."
I smile sweetly. "Liam."
He stares me down, but I just stare right back. Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, he mutters, "This is going to be painful, isn't it?"
I beam. "Excruciating."
And then I drag him out the door.
I thrive in chaos.
Shopping with Liam Carter? Absolute gold mine of entertainment.
He looks so out of place among the racks of designer clothes and overly enthusiastic salespeople, his broad frame stiff, his face set in a permanent scowl. I, meanwhile, am having the time of my life.
The boutique I drag him into is all sleek lighting and minimalistic decor, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and champagne offered at the door. I accept a flute just for the theatrics of it, swirling the bubbles dramatically as I circle Liam like a shark.
"What about this?" I hold up a deep blue dress—silky, draped in a way that's both elegant and risky.
Liam arches a brow. "You're trying to kill me."
I wink. "You'd die happy."
He mutters something under his breath but doesn't argue.
While I pick out way too many outfits, I make Liam try things on too just for fun. He looks obscenely good in everything.
"You are the worst," he grumbles as I make him twirl.
But I see the smallest hint of a smirk.
At one point, I grab a leather jacket off a display. It's sleek, buttery-soft, and a perfect shade of dark gray.
He frowns. "Ava?—"
"Let me buy it for you." I roll my eyes. "You'll love it. I know things."
He sighs but eventually—finally—relents, letting me slip it over his broad shoulders. And when I step back?
Yeah. I did good.
"You look unfairly hot," I declare.
Liam exhales sharply. "You're exhausting."
I just grin.
By the time we leave, my arms are full of bags, Liam looks delicious in his new jacket, and I feel like I just won a gold medal in emotional terrorism.
Absolutely iconic behavior.
Back at Liam's loft, we set our bags down and Liam makes me a cup of sweet milk tea. As I sip on it and he inhales his coffee, I turn to look at Liam, really look at him, standing there in his too-expensive suit, wearing a jacket I picked out, and my heart does a stupid, stupid thing.
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