“No?”
The strands at the front of his hair fall across his brow when he shakes his head. “Not at all.”
Our next stop is the grocery store.
Elliott insists I stand on the end of the cart like a little kid while he steers me up and down the aisles. This is the first time I’ve been here and not been worried about money, which meansI throw in a giant, family-sized package of extra quilted toilet paper and colorful boxes of high fructose everything.
Elliott plucks them right back out to read the labels.
Another flaw. Thank goodness.
He returns the boxes to the shelves, trading them for bland tan boxes with the word “organic” stamped across the front. “These are healthier.”
I guess I now understand how he got those abs of his—not that I’m complaining. I drop the red box back into the cart. “But these taste better.”
“How do you know? Have you tried these?” He gives his own box a shake.
“No, but…”
“But nothing.”
But everything. I gesture to his box. “Those are four times the price.” I don’t care how good they taste—and that has yet to be decided. I can guarantee you that they aren’t four times as yummy.
“And?”
“And I don’t really feel like spending a thousand dollars on groceries for the week.” Is this our first fight?
He drops both boxes into the cart, his jaw pulsing. “You’re not spending anything on groceries.”
“I’m not with you so you’ll buy me fancy food.”
“I know.” He steps closer, sandwiching me between the cold metal cart and his hard, hot chest. “You’re with me because I have a big dick and can make you come anytime you want.” He stamps a kiss to my cheek. “But I’m not letting my girlfriend foot the grocery bill.”
He takes a few steps back to wrap his fingers around the red handle, pushing the cart down toward the frozen food.
All I can do is stare at him.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
He’s almost to the end of the aisle before he realizes I’ve stalled in my tracks. “Loren?”
“You just called me your girlfriend.”
He leaves the cart, coming back to where I stand and propping his hands on his hips like he’s about to scold me. “Did we not already have this discussion back home?”
“Yeah, but you never used the words ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend.’”
He looks genuinely confused. “What did you think ‘dating’ meant?”
I have to remind myself that this guy was with the same woman for over a decade. He’s been single for a few years but apparently hasn’t entered the dating pool, more like dipped his toes in it. Meaning he clearly doesn’t understand our generation’s aversion to labels.
Giddiness wells up inside me, like I drank a bunch of celebratory champagne and it’s all bubbling to the surface. “I have a hot boyfriend with a massive dick,” I whisper from behind my hands with a giggle.
Mischief sparks in his sea-blue eyes. “And I have a sexy girlfriend with the sweetest pussy I ever tasted,” he says loud enough that anyone could hear.
“Elliott!”
“What?”
