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Wyatt looks up. He opens his mouth to tell the worker to get me the next size, but instead, he’s on him in a flash. He pushes him against the rack of shoes and gets in his face. The display shakes, and some of the shoes tumble over. Once again, his hat is hiding most of his features from me, but the hard line of his jaw is unmistakable. “You looking at her rack?”
“N-no,” the guy squeaks out, clearly scared out of his mind.
My stomach drops. “Wyatt,” I whisper-yell as people pass by. They hurry down the aisle, but Wyatt doesn’t give a fuck. He’s not going to apologize like Stone did.
The brim of Wyatt’s hat hits the guy in the forehead. “Just because I call her Tits doesn’t mean you get free looks, you understand me.”
The guy swallows. “Yes, of course.”
Wyatt steps back and shoves him toward a door that leads to the back. “Now get her a size eight in those shoes.”
The guy hurries away, and I glare at Wyatt. “What was that about?” Embarrassment creeps up my cheeks. “You can’t just treat people that way.”
“I can and I will,” Wyatt says, stepping up to me. “Those tits are off limits to others, and the way he was salivating over them...” A disgusted tremor rolls through him. He balls his fists at his sides and moves closer. He bends over, whispering right into my ear, making shivers run down my arms. He hovers there, and I close my eyes because I’m sure he notices the effect he has on me. “Just FYI, you can tell by the way he didn’t fight back that he’d be a terrible lay. Remember that. Boys with bite will give you everything you need and everything you think you didn’t but do. I’m sure Lucas is close to showing you, and he’s a sleeper. Trust me.”
By the time he steps away, my knees are shaking. I already know Lucas is a sleeper. That he’s exactly what I want. I haven’t been able to forget what happened in class even though there are more pressing concerns happening around me. However, my blood boils when Wyatt is near too. He acts like an ass and then licks my wounds afterward until I just want to spread my legs to see what he can do down there when he’s like this everywhere else. I don’t doubt he’s everything and more in the bedroom.
I’ve read about guys like him. I just thought they were all fictional.
I go to stand, but he bites down on my earlobe. A spark of momentary pain hits. He sucks it away until I have to sit down again, my knees too weak to hold me upright. I nearly miss the bench, and Wyatt chuckles as he makes sure I land on the solid steel.
Thankfully, a new worker comes out of the back with my size eights. Wyatt smirks as he takes the box from him and helps me slip them on. These are much better. I end up grabbing that pair and another of a different kind while Wyatt throws two bags of hiking socks in the cart along with some athletic socks. We stop at the sneakers next, and I bite my lip over all the different colors and styles. I always just wore what my father brought me home from the second-hand store. I never got to pick out anything myself, so standing here is like being a kid in a candy store. Speaking of, I’ve never been the kid in the candy store either, but I can imagine it so that’s all that matters.
I’m deciding between two pairs when Wyatt puts them both in the cart. I start to argue with him, but he just walks away, and I have to run to catch up with his long strides. We head toward the clothing section next. At least this I can help with. I know my sizes in clothes based on my father’s shopping experience. I remember the growth spurt I went through in middle school. He had to buy me new hand-me-downs every three months and wasn’t happy.
Wyatt shows me some women’s hiking pants, and I smile. I’ve never had pants specifically for hiking. Even though I know my size, he makes me try them on. He waits outside the fitting rooms as I change out of my old jean shorts with the rips in the hem and try the hiking pants on. While I’m pulling the new material over my hips, I find I’m actually having a good time shopping with Wyatt.
On the other hand, of course I am. How could I not be? I’m about to get a bunch of brand new stuff. This good mood must be a shopper’s high which will probably dissipate as soon as we leave.
I check the pants out in the mirror and decide they fit well enough. Before I can get changed back into my shorts, Wyatt says, “You better be planning on showing me those pants, Tits.”
I cock my head. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need to show you.”
Instead of coming back with something sarcastic or even worse, more demands, he says, “Please?”
My shoulders slump. Any other argument and I could’ve ignored it, but not this one. I begrudgingly open the door and step out. He leans on the cart we have and then twirls his finger in a circle, indicating for me to turn around. By the time I’m facing him again, he shakes his head. “They’re a hair too big. Here.” He holds up the same pants but in a different size.
“These are fine, Wyatt.”
“Actually, he’s right.” I turn to find Stone and Lucas walking toward us. “Those are too big. When you buy something new, they’ll relax over time. The first few times you wear them, they’ll be fine, but then they’ll be slipping past your ass while we’re trying to hike up the Superstitions, and we can’t have that. Can we, Wilder?”
I take the pants from Wyatt and slip back into the fitting room. Before I can come out with them on for their inspection again, more tops and pants are thrown over the top of the fitting room door. “Try these on, Wilder.”
I groan, but I take them anyway. There’s nothing wrong with my clothes. In fact, I’d have more clothes if Stone had grabbed everything from my dorm, but he didn’t.
My mind gives me all those excuses, but the truth is, when I try the first shirt on, I just stare at my reflection in the mirror inside that tiny dressing room for ages. My hair is wild like normal, but my eyes seem brighter. Standing there in new clothes is like wearing different shields of armor, a luxury I’ve never had before.
Maybe I let everyone pick on me at school because what they said was true. I was wearing someone else’s clothes. We were poor. My dad was kind of out there, and I’m sure I had my moments where I seemed out there, too. I didn’t have experiences like everyone else.
“Dakota?” Wyatt calls through the door.
“Yeah,” I say, and for a moment, I forget to put my solid exterior back in place because my voice cracks.
I groan again and wipe at my eyes, but movement at my feet makes me step away. Wyatt, sans cowboy hat comes squirming in underneath my fitting room door. He stands to his full height in front of me while I fight back tears. Goddammit. I think I actually do like shopping with Wyatt Longhorn.
A small smile flickers across his face. “I’d cry too if I saw the real me for the first time.”
His words drop anchor into the pit of my stomach. Therealme. Without someone else’s clothes that already lived through their lifetime. Without someone else’s shoes that have already walked someone else’s miles. Me. Just me.