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A squeak slipped out of the salesgirl. Her eyes flitted everywhere except directly at them as she handed over his card and the bag. “Thank you, and uh, sorry if I offended either of you before…but you’re absolutely the sweetest couple to ever come in here.”
To hell with courtesy. He draped his arm over Andie’s shoulders and pulled her alongside him as they hit the aisle way again, smiling down at her when she slid her arm around his waist. Exactly how it should be.
“That’s a bad-boy grin.”
“I was thinking that the salesgirl back there wouldn’t call us sweet if she knew the things I did to you a couple of hours ago.”
“I don’t know…I came three times. That was pretty sweet.”
“Three? I thought it was only twice.”
She pulled him inside a booth filled with leatherwork. “Two and three sort of ran together. You were, um…” She glanced at the shopkeeper, then back to him. “Enthusiastically distracted at that point.”
“Understatement of the year, babe.” Yeah, he’d never forget that part. Fucking her oil-slicked ass from behind while she used a vibrator on her clit…it was a miracle he’d had awareness at all. “I’m getting lightheaded thinking about it.”
Six feet or so away from the guy working the booth, Andie stuck her free hand inside the front of his shorts. Copped a giant, lingering feel. “That’s because all of your blood has gone to your cock, honey.”
Honey?She’d never called him anything like that. Whatever the reason, she could do it again, anytime. Ditto with the way she continued to surprise him.
“You keep your hand down there much longer, I’m gonna buy a few of these sheepskins and take you out to my truck.”
The man buzzing away at his crazy-looking sewing machine didn’t look up, but snorted openly. “For you two, no tax. Oh, and they’re machine washable, which might come in handy.”
“Good to know, thanks.” Albeit unnecessary, since Andie’d already removed her hand and moved off to look at a shelf of moccasins and sheepskin slippers. Not her usual type of footwear. “Moving to Nunavut?”
“It’s the sewing. My feet become blocks of ice when I work for hours at a stretch, even in summer.” She paused with her hand on his elbow, halfway through the process of slipping off her sexy sandals. “Do you think it’s okay for me to try them on with bare feet?”
“Ask.”
“I can’t talk to him now. Not after…” Her face went from sun-bronzed to deep pink. “Will you ask?”
“Anything for you.” Those three words were becoming reflex. Every time he said them, he might as well have been saying the other three words, because they meant the same thing.
The blush receded from Andie’s face when the man chose to speak to them from behind his equipment. In the end, she had two pairs in her hands. Purple slippers bursting with white fuzz—those he could see her wearing. The boring, brown mocs, not so much.
“For Dylan,” she said, answering his unasked question.
Of course. The kid was twelve. Twelve-year-old boys had adult-sized feet. They shopped in the men’s section, ate a ton of food and if memory served, got the sheets sticky on occasion.
Twelve. Almost a teenager. Shit, it’d been so easy to forget that since the kid had gone up north with his dad. Not to forget about Dylan himself.
Andie talked about her son often, spoke to him on the phone every day. She’d made no attempt to hide that part of her life or its importance. A couple of times, while she’d been chatting away to the boy, Mason had gotten this picture in his head. What it might be like, hanging out with Andie and her son, doing normal, family-type stuff. But in those imagined scenarios, Dylan was smaller, younger. Like six or seven. It was the age part Mason had forgotten. Or blocked out.
“Nothing for the big man of the house today?” The vendor’s subtle emphasis on the wordbighad Andie stammering an explanation as the man bagged her purchases.
“I’m good,” Mason cut in, “but if you have another pair of the fuzzy ones in my beautiful lady’s size, I’ll take them, in r—” Shit. He almost told the guy what color to get. At least he’d stopped in time instead of nicking her old wounds again. “Is there another color you like, babe?”
“Red.” The appreciative smile she gave him shot straight to his heart. “I like the red ones.”
He wanted to kiss her so damn bad. Soon. He swallowed hard and nodded at the shopkeeper. “Red, if you’ve got it.”
The man winked and left them to rummage through his stock.
“Why?”
“To keep at my house. The floors are damn cold in the winter.”
“Mason…winter’s at least three months away.”
