Page 14 of Crushing Clover

As Lucky helped me out of his truck, I surveyed the half-empty parking lot.

“I still can’t believe you’re going to let me wander around a mall without, like, a gag and handcuffs.”

“Don’t tempt me, woman.” He shut the passenger door behind me, and his lips twitched. “At least I won’t have trouble spotting you in a crowd, wearing that.”

“Shut up. I’m having a Viking burial for this dress tonight.”

“If you start a fire in the house, Saint is going to beat your ass again.” He turned to look at the building that seemed to go on forever and groaned. “Have I mentioned that I hate shopping?”

“Maybe twelve times since we left the house.”

Lucky grumbled as we entered the mall. The place looked as if it had been a bustling hub of activity back in the day, but like every other mall I’d been to lately, it was a ghost town.

Empty storefronts held signs advertising space for lease, and the stores that were open were running a skeleton crew.

Back in the day, I had worked retail, but that had only lasted six months—until I realized it wouldn’t pay both our rent and food. Then there were the internet and cell bills…

Briefly forgotten financial worries crowded back into my mind, but those problems weren’t mine anymore.

Sure, some things would probably keep coming out of my account until it ran out of money, but there was no helping that.

I doubted the guys would let me borrow a phone so I could call around to cancel services.

The damage it would do to my credit rating made me sick, but would I ever need a credit rating again?

I’d taken such a large step sideways, out of the reality I had inhabited for so long, living hand to mouth.

Knowing where the money came from wasn’t my problem anymore.

Was this how it had felt for Noah all these years?

He’d spent most of what he bothered to earn on games and snacks while leaving the rest of the bills for me to handle.

“Where do you usually shop for clothes?” Lucky stopped in front of a touchscreen mall directory.

“I doubt they’d have an outlet in this mall.”

“Damn, I should have guessed you’d have expensive taste.”

“I wouldn’t call it expensive, just very specific, and tied to my work.” I shrugged. “I used to wear leggings and T-shirts most of the time when I wasn’t working.”

“So, what do you want to wear now?”

“Anything is fine.”

He sighed in aggravation. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to take you to a department store.”

I snorted. “Oh, the horror.”

Still threatening me, he led me to a coffee shop and ordered a black coffee almost as big as my head.

“Do you want anything?”

“No thanks. I’m not a coffee person.”

It felt weird to not be carrying a purse and a cell phone. I trailed after him like a dependent child, not sure what to say.

“I don’t need anything expensive, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Saint isn’t going to be happy if you’re dressed in cheap clothes, and since I’d prefer to get this all done at once, we should probably get at least a week or two worth of clothes, plus whatever else you need—you know, underwear and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“Shoes, socks, bras and lingerie or whatever.” He’d said lingerie in a way that suggested he had never said the word out loud before.

“Are you serious? Like, today?”

“How hard can it be? People dream about going on shopping sprees, right?”

“On nineties sitcoms, maybe.”

He took a sip of his coffee and sighed with satisfaction.

Considering they hadn’t wanted me in the first place, I was still shocked they weren’t locking me in the basement in rags.

“So, how long have you been…” His eyes went shifty. Was he making sure no one was listening to our conversation? “Uh…in this line of work.”

“I worked retail, and then I was a dancer. That’s where I heard about the sex resort I worked at for about a week and a half before I got hurt. After that, I ended up with Warren for a few days, then he gave me to Saint John.”

“That’s it?”

I nodded.

“And what do your parents think about it? Do they know?”

“Our mom took off when I was a baby, and our dad lost custody of my sister and I when we were really small because he used to leave us home alone when he went to work. I can’t blame him—it’s not like he had any other choice. We were put into different foster homes. Dad died not long after.”

“What about your foster parents?”

“My last foster mom thought I was a piece of trash, and we’ve been no contact since I got moved to my first group home. So no, no one cares where I am, or what I’m doing, if that’s what you were asking.”

“Your mom took off? Don’t hear that very often. They’re usually the ones who stick around.” His gaze lingered on mine, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me. Crud. Did I want him to?

“What can I say? I have the wrong pole of a magnetic personality.”

He grinned at me, his golden eyes drawing me in. It felt like sinking into warm honey.

Damn.

Was I already developing a crush on this boy? Man. He definitely wasn’t a boy.

The way he looked at me made me feel as though he liked me.

Yummy.

Damn it, Clover, he looks at you like that because you’re basically a clone of the ex-girlfriend he hasn’t gotten over. No catching feelings for any of the men who own you.

When it came, his kiss was brief, and I didn’t let myself like it too much.

With his coffee in hand, Lucky was much less grumpy about strolling through the mall. Elderly couples window shopping or walking for exercise seemed to be the only other people around, other than workers on break, and the occasional mom with a stroller.

“I used to hang out at this mall,” he said, sounding almost wistful.

“You did?”

“Yeah. The three of us did when we were in high school.”

“You’ve known each other that long?”

“Since ninth grade. We had homeroom together and eventually started hanging out after school.”

“Let me guess—you were one of those little skater dudes?”

“How’d you guess?”

“It wasn’t difficult.”

He grinned. “Skating, surfing, drinking—that sort of thing.”

“Are you trying to tell me you weren’t a stoner?”

“Oh, I was absolutely a stoner.” He laughed. “I’m glad I never got into the hard stuff.”

He walked me into the first women’s clothing store he saw, apparently not noticing the banners out front showing happy silver-haired women hoisting grandchildren or playing with puppies.

The saleswoman inside glanced up. “Can I help you?”

“Hi,” he said, gazing around in bemusement.

“Are you shopping for someone? Your mom? Your grandmother?”

“Just looking, thanks.” He grabbed my hand and trolled me around the store as though any of the styles might appeal to him. He gave her a fake smile as we headed back to the front of the store. “I have no idea what she likes. I guess I’ll have to give her a call.”

She gave an awkward chuckle, and we left.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he whispered when we were a few feet away from the store.

“I thought you had a polyester kink I was unaware of.” I shrugged innocently.

“How do you think people would react if I took you to that bench over there and put you over my knee?”

“They’d probably call mall security to kick us out of here.”

“Considering how few people are here to shop, I doubt security would throw us out for anything short of murder. I feel guilty for shopping online so much.”

“It’s easier. I think almost everyone feels the same way.” I shrugged.

He led me into a store that seemed very…young. The lone employee was busy helping a woman who was shopping with her teenage daughter.

I frowned at the displays as he frowned at me.

“This isn’t going to get done any faster if you don’t actually pick things to try on.”

“A lot of this looks like clubwear,” I said, running my fingers along short, shimmering spandex. “Are we going to be doing a lot of that?”

“No, but the stuff in here is sexier than what you’re wearing, at least.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“We need to get Saint on board.”

I pulled out a pink velour sweatsuit and looked at it in distaste. It was a lot of pink, which clashed with my hair.

Lucky took the hanger out of my hand and put the outfit back on the rack. “No. Hard limit. You’re not going to dress like my mom’s favorite Spice Girl.”

“What’s a Spice Girl?”

“Come on, everyone knows who they are.”

I bit my lips together, trying not to laugh. “I’ve never heard of them.”

He started naming songs as I browsed through the clothing. There was a section of cute cotton sundresses he seemed to like. I kept acting clueless about The Spice Girls as he piled dresses into my arms.

“Come on, you have to know at least one of those songs.”

“Maybe if you sing one, I’ll recognize it.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, suddenly realizing what I was doing. “As soon as we get home, you’re in trouble.”

I pretended not to hear him. “I bet it’ll help if you do the choreography, too.”

“For your safety and the safety of everyone around us, make sure you never tease Saint like this.”

I grimaced at the sweater I was looking at, not sure if I disliked it, or disliked who we were talking about.

When our arms were completely laden with clothes, the teenage saleswoman who had been fluttering around us, led us to the change rooms at the back. I felt bad for her, knowing she’d have to hang up anything he didn’t buy.

A shopping spree for a new wardrobe could have been fun, but instead, I found myself trying to guess what Saint John and Rush would like. Needing advice, I tried on the first dress and smoothed the clinging fabric over my hips.

I walked out of the change room, expecting to have to track Lucky down, but he was waiting right outside the door. For a moment, I felt a glow of pleasure that he’d waited and hadn’t wandered off, but then reality kicked in. As much as he hated shopping, he still needed to keep an eye on me.

Lucky whistled long and low, his gaze appreciative.

“Why do I get the feeling you’d do the same if I was wearing that pink tracksuit?”

“Probably. My eyes missed you.”

His eyes missed me?