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“Get what you needed?” she asks.
“I did. Ready to check out?” She gives me a silent nod. “Why don’t you go scope out our next store while I hit this line?”
“Sure,” she agrees quickly and walks toward the door.
That was easier than I thought it would be, but I just wonder how long I can keep up the same spiel without her catching on?
By the time we reach the shoe store, I’ve managed to buy her two pair of shorts, three shirts, a dress, and a necklace. In doing so, I also bought two pair of shorts, five shirts, and two pair of swim trunks for myself—all things I don’t need.
“What kind of shoes do you need?” she asks.
“Gym shoes, maybe some flip-flops. I didn’t pack any.”
She throws her head back and laughs, the sound washing over me, making my body yearn for hers. “How do you travel to Florida and not pack swim trunks or flip-flops?” she asks.
As the day goes on, she has grown more comfortable with me. “It’s a work trip,” I remind her.
“It’s the beach,” she counters. “Besides, you’re doing this as a favor, right? Are you even getting paid?”
“Hush.” I lean my shoulder into hers and reluctantly release her hand. All our bags are in my other hand. Not holding her hand is not something I’m willing to relent on. “Go shop, woman,” I tease.
“Yes, sir.” She mock salutes me, and my dick is hard as stone.
I grab a pair of men’s flip-flops in my size and hurry to pick out a pair of tennis shoes. I drop them off at the counter and go to find her. She’s standing looking at rows of black shoes, similar to the ones that she wears to work. “What size are you?” I ask her.
“Eight,” she answers, not thinking. “Wait, why?” she asks.
Placing my bags at our feet, I point to the chair. “Sit.” I pull out pairs of eights in every style and pile them on the floor in front of her. “What are you waiting for, start trying them on.”
“Owen.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “I can’t.”
“Sure, you can. These are on me. This was my plan all along,” I confess.
“No. You’ve done too much for me. I can’t let you do that.”
“It’s not up to you. Now, you can try them on and get a pair that are comfortable and that you like, or I buy them all, and you’re stuck.”
“All of them?” she gasps.
“That’s what I said.”
“Owen, you’re crazy.” She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Maybe. Get busy.” I point to the stack of shoe boxes. I study her as she looks at the mountain of boxes before her, then back up at me. I nod, giving her the go-ahead. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she reaches for the first box and removes the lid. I stand here, vigilant, watching her try on each pair, and walk around in them.
When she places the fourth pair on her feet, I know from the expression on her face, these are the ones she’s getting. She bounces a little and looks up at me with a soft smile.
“They feel like clouds.”
“Have you walked on clouds?” I tease.
“You know what I mean,” she says, rolling those stunning blue eyes at me.
“They look good on you,” I tell her. What I don’t tell her is that she would look good in a paper bag, or nothing, yeah, she would definitely look good in nothing. Shifting my stance, making room for my growing erection, I turn my focus back to the shoes.
“Owen!” she gasps. “These are eighty dollars.”
“Okay.”
“That’s too much. I can get a pair at Walmart for twenty.”
“You could, but we’re here, and I want you to have these.” I grab the shoe out of her hand and shove it into the box. “You put those up while I go pay.”
“Owen,” she calls after me, but I wave over my shoulder, not bothering to stop. Swinging past the flip-flops, I grab her a couple of pairs—the ones she has on today are worn out; I’ve seen her adjust the thong when it popped out twice today. Taking them to the counter, I motion to my shoes as well, and quickly check out.
“Thank you.” Her soft voice comes from beside me.
Turning, I see her holding the bags that I left there. “You’re welcome. Now, I’m starving. You ready to eat?”
“Yes.” A simple answer to a simple question.
Grabbing the bags of shoes, I try to take the others from her, but she insists that she can carry them. Then she surprises me when she reaches out and links her fingers with mine.
Once we have the bags loaded, I spot my cell phone in the cupholder. I chuckle, picking it up to see that I have five missed calls from the office.
