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“What the hell do you mean?” I grunt.
“We’ve got a party to go to tomorrow. You need a new dress, and I’m taking you shopping.”
I raise a brow at him. I don’t really need a new dress. And I really don’t feel like shopping. But Jax does not shop.
“You heard me correctly,” he laughs. “I, Jaxon Nicholas McCabe, am taking you dress shopping.”
Jax
God, how I hate shopping. It is seriously the bane of my existence. I don’t even shop for myself. My mom did it for me when I was a kid, obviously. Zoey has shopped for me a lot over the years. The few times I had to shop, the trips were always in, grab what I need, and leave. Or I’d shop online.
Not very romantic, but even the gifts I’ve bought for Zoey have been ordered with the exception of one that has been sitting in my drawer for over three years now.
But I’d shop every single damn day of the year if it makes Zoey smile. I knew the crowds of people would be too much for her to handle right now, so I had my agent arrange for a few boutiques to close for her to peruse to her heart’s content.
And she did. She picked out several different articles of clothes. She claims she got a dress too but wouldn’t let me see.
She spent a couple thousand dollars. I tried to pay for it. I wanted to fucking pay for it. She wouldn’t let me.
We argued in a corner of the boutique for probably ten minutes before she told me it didn’t matter what I wanted because she’d paid for everything already. Apparently, she’d handed the shop owner her card while she was changing back into her clothes. The argument was pointless.
It didn’t stop me from pouting. I sulked like a ten-year-old girl.
When we got back to the apartment, I was over it. Who cared who paid for her stuff? I knew she had her own money. Not as much as I had, but enough to pay for her own clothes, and, clearly, it was important to her.
I just wanted to take care of her. I wanted her to know whatever belonged to me, also belonged to her.
When we went to the bedroom for the night, I pulled her into my arms and told her how proud I was of her. I was so damn proud. But not too proud to admit Dr. Lansing was right. I couldn’t keep hiding Zoey from the world as much as I would like to.
We made love well into the morning hours. I lost count at the amount of orgasms I gave her. Hell, I lost count of the amount she gave me.
We sleep until nearly one in the afternoon.
Now there’s five hours until we have to be at the New Year’s Eve party. More than enough time for me to get ready. Not nearly enough for her. At least that’s what she started yelling about twenty minutes ago.
“How am I going to be ready to go in less than five hours?” she asks me for the fifth time.
“Well, maybe if you’d get busy instead of asking me that every four minutes, you’d have plenty of times?” I quip. I realize that’s not the smartest thing to say to a woman when she’s in the middle of crisis mode over wardrobe, hair, and makeup. I never claimed to be the smartest.
She narrows her eyes at me, stomping off in a huff that makes me laugh.
I plan on doing nothing but sitting on the couch until I have to shower and change. Video games sound like a good idea until my phone rings. I see Zane’s name flash across the screen.
“I have a surprise for Zoey,” he says a little sinisterly.
“No. No surprises. This is literally her first time at any kind of party or function in over a year. None of your crap tonight,” I warn him.
I can almost hear the eye roll through the phone. “It’s a good surprise,” he replies with a huff. “I wouldn’t do anything to her tonight. But I need a favor from you.”
“What?” I ask with plenty of suspicion still in my voice.
“I need you to pick up a package from By Design and bring it to my apartment.”
“Are you joking? Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because it’s part of Zoey’s surprise,” he says with exasperation.
“What are you up to, Zee? Why can’t you just get this package yourself?”
