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I’d fucked them both hard and dirty, all night long. When Alyssa started coming to shows after, making it obvious she wanted another round with my dick, who was I to deny her a good time? It started as no-strings, simple sex. When she asked if we could try making things more serious, I figured why not? I’d never attempted the girlfriend thing. She was a great lay and worked for a marketing company that had done work for Devils Heartbreak in the past. It seemed like a good idea. Until it wasn’t.
Still, even though I’d gone through almost two years of hell with Alyssa, I’d never been to the mall with her. I’d never been to the mall with any woman.
Yet here I stood with Wrenlee as she awkwardly looked through bikini after bikini.
A white one with gold hooped accents caught my eye and I flicked the hanger. “What about this one?”
She looked at it, touching the fabric with interest before suddenly shaking her head.
We repeat this with three more swimsuits before I lift a black one piece, thinking she’s gotta be shy about the two pieces, and doesn’t know how to tell me she’s not comfortable showing off her body, great as it is. “How about this one?”
Again, she fingers the material before biting down on her lip and shaking her head.
This is why men don’t like shopping with women.
I tip my head back, trying to bridle in my growing annoyance. “Wrenlee, pick a suit.”
She looks panicked as she heads for a rack at the front of the store. I watch, standing back as she flips through the mess of bathing suits before she tugs a two piece that looks made from unicorn vomit from the rack. Then she declares, “I just need to try it on.”
Is she playing with me?
I feel my grin stretch as I fold my arms over my chest. “That’s your pick?”
She pales slightly, giving a small shrug. “Yeah, why not?”
Sheisserious. Who am I to say she can’t have the unicorn vomit swimsuit? I gesture to the change rooms. “Whatever you want, Kitten.”
She disappears into the room, letting out a distressed sigh a few minutes later. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when a saleswoman taps on the door. “Can I get you another size?”
“Um…” She cracks the door just enough for the woman to peek inside. Her voice is low, but I catch enough. “Do you have this in a double D cup size?”
“Unfortunately, we don’t.”
“Okay.” Her voice is small, and I lean closer. “Doyou have anything from the discount rack in a double D?”
“Let me take a look,” The woman responds politely, and Wrenlee closes the door.
She wasn’t being picky about the bathing suit. She’s trying to stay within a price range.
Something ugly twists in my guts as I move back into the store. I check the price of the pieces I’d suggested—the ones she’d fingered with longing only to reject time and again. They’re all slightly over a hundred dollars. I move to the discount rack where she plucked the crime against humanity and finger a price-tag. Sixty dollars.
I look to the store attendant and ask, “She said double D cup, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll take these.” I start collecting the pieces Wrenlee rejected, tossing them onto the counter.
“Um—” The sales attendant blinks at me. “Should I get her to try them on?”
“She won’t.” I pull my wallet from my pocket and call, “Kitten, we’re leaving.”
I chuckle when I hear her squeak in relief. “Okay.”
The girl is handing me the bag with six swimsuits inside when Wrenlee appears from the change room, looking flushed. “We can tryTargetor something.” Her eyes fall to the bag and her lips part. “What is that?”
“Swimsuits.”
She stares at the bag unblinking. “For what?”
