…
…
…
Nobody knows
Your secret's safe with me.
I pocket my phone as Addie emerges from the kitchen. She drops a plate off at the other end of the bar and then plops a burger and fries in front of me. I raise an eyebrowat her, and she shrugs.
"Put the ticket in when you got here," she says, swiping a fry and biting it with a smile.
I bite into the burger. It's shit. Literal fucking garbage…and it's delicious. I don't know if it's the burger itself or the feeling that things are looking up, but I'm going to pretend it's the latter and hope I don't get sick.
Chapter twenty
Jade
Mateo holds up a pair of sneakers.
I click my tongue in disapproval.
Why can't he order shit online like a normal person? He said it's because he likes to touch stuff, which I suppose isn't wrong. Every clothing rack we walk by, his fingers graze the fabric. He's constantly picking things up off shelves and putting them back down.
Or touching the small of my back, which obviously I hate.
I hate that I think I like it.
I'm not supposed to.
Sex only. He's supposed to be my orgasm vending machine. My personal pussy attendant, my—God he needs to stop looking at me like that.
It's like he fucking knows where my head is right now. I scowl, and he laughs.
"Come on, Storm Cloud," he says and gestures to the exit of the store.
I lead, and he follows. Always. He'll walk ahead to hold the door open, but that's it. He falls in step beside me or behind me, never in front. Does that say something about him? Or me that I noticed?
"Are you ever going to tell me where Storm Cloud came from?" I ask exiting the store into the mall.
A grin flashes across his face, the one he uses when he and Coop are up to something, but it's quickly replaced with what I call his sexy mask. The one where he tries to look all bad and mysterious, and I hold back a laugh because it's anything but.
"You going to draw me?" he asks.
"No," I say, straight-faced. My sketchpad begs to differ, but he doesn't need to know that.
"Let's try there," he says, pointing to another shoe store.
Ask me why I'm here today, go ahead. Ask.
Because this motherfucker can't get his left shoe on or off without help from me or a fucking shoehorn, which he didn't want to carry around.
I guess there are worse things.
Like dealing with Kevin.
We find the men's section, and I take a seat on a bench to wait until his majesty needs me, except he keeps asking my opinion. I don't get him, like at all. I don't understand why my opinion matters, or why he would even consider a relationship with me. We aren't compatible, not in the slightest. I'm darkness, he's light. I'm a traffic jam at rush-hour, and he's a Sunday drive. I'm not the woman people want. I'm the one they take advantage of, the one they leave behind.
