Page 22 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)

Nicole

“ C ostco?”

Ian gestures for me to follow him through the parking lot to the big box discount store. “Yeah.” He throws his hands up in innocence. “I’m following your rules. So, instead of taking you out somewhere around the neighborhood, I’m taking you here.”

I snort a laugh. “You’re kidding.”

He tosses me an offended look. “Have you never had Costco pizza before?”

“I’ve never even been to a Costco.”

“Oh, baby. What have you been doing with your life?” He reaches for my hand but stops himself and snaps his fingers instead. A surprising wash of disappointment settles over me that we can’t hold hands like he wants to. Like I want to.

I reposition my purse from my shoulder to across my body, purposefully nudging him with my elbow. When he slants his gaze to me, I smile, hoping he can understand that if this were another time and place, I would love to hold his hand. But there are still too many eyes.

He nods his understanding and lowers his voice. “Prepare to have your life changed.”

“Should I be doing stretches or something? Exercises to warm up?”

He tips his head in mock gravity. “This is a marathon, not a sprint. The key is to take your time and stick to the plan because it’s easy to be pulled off course.

We need paper supplies, drinks, and a few miscellaneous items.” He arches his eyebrows in my direction.

“Do not get distracted by the fun pool floaties. Because you’ll see that blow-up unicorn and think you need it for only ten bucks, and then you’re left with a fucking blow-up unicorn in the middle of your living room. ”

“So I can assume you bought the blow-up unicorn pool floatie.”

“I thought one of my nieces would want it.” He shrugs. “They didn’t.”

“Do Taryn or Griffin even have a pool?”

“No, but that’s what I’m saying. It’s easy to lose track of yourself in here. Stay close to my side, all right?”

“Yes, sir.” I laugh at his serious tone. That big bad Ian Stone loves to shop at Costco. Precious .

When the automatic doors open, Ian flashes the attendant his member card before turning to me with a glint in his eyes that I have never seen before.

Part excitement, part determination. He cracks his knuckles like we’re about to race then shoots a toothy, almost feral grin my way. “Are you ready to fucking rage?”

And, oh my god, he is magnificent.

With his hair loose, muscles on display in the fitted, retro D.A.R.E. T-shirt, and big, tattooed hands rubbing together, I think I’ve found a new kink: Ian Stone at a Costco.

He takes an oversized cart in hand and leads the way into the store, giving me a quick rundown of the layout that includes electronics and home goods. This place literally has everything. Who knew?

We head over to the bakery, past the meats and frozen fish. The size of this place distracts me, let alone the sheer number of salmon patties sold together.

“What do you like?” Ian asks, dragging me back to his side from where I wandered off toward the giant blocks of cheese.

“What do I like?”

He points to all the baked goods, the big cakes and pies, and trays of little cupcakes and cookies decorated with red, white, and blue sprinkles. I point to them. “They’re cute.”

He puts the cookies in the cart along with a coconut cake then continues on toward the refrigerated section. We pass all the outdoor items, and I stop to check out the lawn chairs. “I told you,” he says, so close to my ear that I startle. “Before you know it, you’ll have a unicorn.”

“I can’t believe they have all this. And for so cheap!”

He clucks his tongue. “Sounds like we need to get you a membership.”

“Or I could borrow yours.” I bump my shoulder into his side, aiming for playful flirtation, but with the way his dark eyes hold mine, it doesn’t feel playful or flirtatious. And for a moment, everything and everyone in the store fades.

Weeks ago, I assumed a man like Ian could never be attracted to a woman like me.

But here we are, the back of his hand skimming mine, sending an electrical current up my arm, sparking something deep in my chest. A shock to my system.

He is attracted to me. Enough that he licks his bottom lip as if thirsty. As if only I can quench his thirst.

It would be so easy to close the few inches of space between us. I am tempted. Too tempted.

Until a baby cries somewhere, bursting our bubble, and I step back.

Ian juts his chin in the direction he wants me to go. He instructs me to grab a big pack of hot dogs and hamburgers and “anything else you want.”

“Why do you keep asking me? I don’t need any groceries.”

“No, but you’re coming to the picnic.”

I wrench back into a woman pushing a cart with her baby inside. “Oh, I’m so sorry about that.” I hop out of her way, right into Ian’s space, up against his chest. “What picnic?”

“My brother’s. Griffin always hosts for July 4th. He’s got the biggest house for everybody. Plus, you know, in case one of the kids sets themselves on fire with a sparkler, Cap can take care of it.”

I blink, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He leans down, his eyes level with mine. “You are coming to Griffin’s house for a picnic tomorrow.” When I shake my head, he cocks his head to the side, a silent reprimand. His voice is so low I have to shift closer to hear him. “Are you disobeying me?”

Yes.

And no.

But also… I think I might want to?

“I can’t go to your brother’s house?”

“Why not? Your store is closed. Do you have other plans?”

“Well…no, but?—”

“So, you’re going to come.” He takes off, pushing the cart down another aisle, and I have to quicken my pace to keep up.

“I’ve never been there before. Won’t it be weird that I’m randomly showing up?”

“No.” He studies the popsicles before choosing the twenty-four-count “real” frozen fruit bars.

“But—”

“But nothing, Nic. I don’t know why you’re questioning me, first of all, but since you need an explanation… No, it won’t be weird. Lots of people are coming. Eloise, Morgan, Clara, Marianne. Even Ned might stop by.”

Ned, the semi-agoraphobic owner of the record store.

It’s all people from Aster Street, from the downtown neighborhood. I’d been invited to other things before, parties and picnics friends and acquaintances have thrown, but I never went. Because of Bryce.

Now he’s gone, and I have Ian—kind of.

I can’t deny how natural and easy it’s been to make the switch, but I’m not sure how comfortable I am, thinking I’m with Ian. Because I’m not.

Not really.

Yet in this moment, even if he weren’t my Dom, I would still want to go and see everyone. Have fun for a few hours outside of work.

“Okay,” I agree, forcing myself to unknot my hands. “Should I bring anything?”

“That’s what we’re shopping for. I’m getting the usual order, plus a few extras.”

I follow him to the milk and eggs. “What’s the usual?”

“I buy the basics for everyone,” he tells me, loading up with multiple gallons of all different kinds of milk, whole, two percent, skim. Then he carefully lays packages of eggs on top of each other.

“Who is everyone?”

“Taryn and her crew, my kids, and occasionally a few things for Griffin, but he’s anal retentive about food. Has to count his macros.”

He rolls his eyes, and I bite back a laugh because Griffin and Ian are both in shape and muscular, particularly for their age, but Griffin is slimmer than his older brother, who is built like an ox.

He works out every day, and it shows. On more than one occasion, I’ve envisioned him throwing tires and logs.

As we move on to the bulk drinks, I ask, “What do you do to work out?”

Right there in front of the crates of iced tea and juice boxes, the man runs his tongue along his front teeth. “You’re curious, baby?”

My cheeks flame, and I pivot to leave him there, but he catches my wrist, a soft laugh whispering along the side of my face when he pulls me into him. “I like it. I like you looking at me.”

When I finally meet his gaze, the humor dissolved from his eyes, I catch myself leaning into his hard-packed body, so I force myself to back away, clearing my throat. “Yes, I’m curious. I don’t know much about fitness or lifting. I only walk when I can.”

He easily slides a few packages of drinks onto the bottom of the cart, and that’s what I mean. “Do you do that CrossFit kind of stuff, like lifting a car?”

He laughs again, and I like that his laugh sounds more like a wheeze. Unused. That means he doesn’t do it often, but I can make him smile and laugh.

I do that.

“Even though I don’t do CrossFit, I don’t think they lift cars. I don’t lift them either. Just regular old weights.”

“Every day.”

“Yep.” He nods his head for us to continue on to the paper products. “Ever since my mom died, I’ve taken it pretty seriously. I always tried to take care of myself, but it really scared me. Both of her parents died young too, and I’m trying to do everything I can to make sure I live a long time.”

I never met Violet Stone, but I’ve heard stories about her. The kind high school English teacher who took lots of side jobs like tutoring and summer camps to have enough money to raise her four kids. But other than that, she is a ghost.

After Ian tosses the biggest pack of paper plates I’ve ever seen in my life into the cart, I ask, “What was she like? Your mom?”

He smiles fondly to himself. “She was…pretty perfect.” He’s quiet for a while as we slowly make our way around the other aisles, strolling up and down each one.

“Her dad, my grandfather, was originally from Iran. He was an engineer and exiled for being a dissident. He moved here and completely Westernized himself, married a blond white woman, and never taught my mom anything about her culture. I know she resented him for that as she grew older, and she taught herself as much as she could. Even learned some Farsi.”

He pulls up the right sleeve of his T-shirt to reveal the name Violet inked with pretty flourishes along with a small dove. Underneath is some language I can’t read, but I guess is Farsi. “What does it say?”

“Mother.”

“Do you speak it?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not naturally academic like she was. She passed that gift on to Griffin. But that’s what always impressed me most—she read everything she could get her hands on. Wanted to learn everything. I remember being a kid and thinking, My mom is the smartest mom on the planet .”

Reflexively, I brush my hand down Ian’s back. “That’s sweet.”

He lifts a thick shoulder. “Don’t all kids think their mom is the best, smartest mom?”

I suck air through my teeth. Because I don’t think that about my mother.

“You don’t get along with your parents?” Ian guesses, and I shake my head.

“Enough to talk to them every once in a while, but by the time I showed up, they were done raising kids. Four is a lot, and one who is the exact opposite of the others? I spent most of my time in the library. I was like Matilda .”

“That movie about the little girl with powers?”

“You don’t know how many nights I stayed awake trying to move things with my mind.”

He plants his hand on my hip, gaze on my mouth. “I really want to kiss you right now because that’s too fucking cute. I can’t stand it.”

I glance around, noting a couple who are complete strangers, and yet…

I step away from him, changing topics. “What about your dad?”

Again, I know the basics. He left Violet with their kids, and Ian pretty much became the head of the house way before his time.

“A piece of shit,” Ian says easily, plucking up a pack of condiments—mustard, ketchup, and relish.

“He married my mom straight out of college and knocked her up, but he never got over the fact that he wasn’t drafted into the NBA.

My first memories of that guy are how tall he was.

He left the first time for a few years, trying to find work, but really, he was drinking and losing his paychecks to casinos.

He came back when I was about six or seven, and still, I thought he was a giant.

He stayed, played at being sober, but it didn’t last. He left for good when I was fourteen.

I never had the chance to show him how tall I grew. ”

Ian is taller than his father in every way. It doesn’t matter if he ever reached the same height or not; I know Ian is a hundred times the man who gave life to him.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say as we make our way back to the front of the store. “About all the loss you suffered.”

He nods but doesn’t reply, so I follow dutifully alongside him. Until a jar catches my eye. I leap over to the milk-chocolate-covered almonds.

“Get them,” Ian says, but I put the plastic jar back.

“I don’t need them.”

He picks it right back up. “No, but you want them.”

“Ian.”

He ignores me, adding a second jar to the cart then points to the dark-chocolate-covered almonds. “What about these?”

“You don’t need to buy them for me.”

“I don’t need to. I want to. See how that works? Both ways.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up his finger.

“Next, I’ll give you my credit card and make you go shopping.

” When I zip my lips, he taps them with the side of his index finger.

“Even if we weren’t…us, I’d still want to buy these for you.

I like taking care of my people. So, let me do that, okay? ”

I give in with a nod, my jaw suddenly tight, eyes stinging at being named as one of his people.

Ian has claimed me in every way he can, as a friend, neighbor, lover, and now one of his people .

I am his. Through and through, and I’ve never felt more at home.

“After I pay for all this, I’m gonna buy you a slice of Costco’s finest.”

“Oh boy,” I tease in a high, childish voice that earns me a stern eyebrow-raise.

“Or I could take you out to my car and edge you until you scream.”

“I’ll take the pizza.”

“That’s my good girl.”

And that’s how I have my first taste of Costco. With Ian at my side. Calling me his good girl.