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A peek in the fancy shower showed fruit-scented gels, shampoos, and conditioners.
“Shit,” I whispered.
I definitely had to call him by his first name.
Reluctantly, I grabbed a bottle of shampoo out of the shower and washed my bangs in the sink. They were dry soon enough, and admittedly, smelled awesome.
I didn’t bother fixing my waves or putting on mascara before I stepped out of the bathroom. When I wasn’t so exhausted, I could start again with my cheap mascara.
Of course, I only made it to the closet’s doorway before I halted, staring into it.
His section of clothing was exactly the same.
Mine?
Not the same.
Definitely not the same.
There were at least a dozen more dresses nestled in with mine, all of which still had tags on them. When I tried to check the price on one of them, I realized he’d cut that part off the tag.
More pairs of new shoes lined the floor beneath the dresses, too.
His closet was a fancy thing, with built-in drawers to remove the necessity of a dresser. So, I ignored the quick beat of my heart as I opened the drawers he had given me when I originally moved in.
Sure enough, there were two dozen new pairs of panties. All of them were the same cut as my old ones, in varying dark shades that meshed with the black I typically bought. I’d tried thongs for the sexy factor at one point, but despised them too much, so I wore the cheeky ones in an attempt to stay sexy without any discomfort.
The bra drawer was more of the same. Two dozen bras—who the hell neededtwo dozenbras? I could wear the same one for a week, easily.
All of them were the same unpadded, underwire style I always wore, but the lace was in varying shades that matched the panties. The fabric itself was clearly more expensive, and felt a hell of a lot softer than anything I’d ever worn.
I found a dozen pairs of fishnets and similar tights in the drawer below the bra one, and an assload of socks in there with them.
With a sigh, I slipped into the new clothes.
They were stupidly comfortable.
I’d noticed a tall, decorative mirror had been added to the bedroom before I fell asleep the night before, so I padded out to it in my new outfit and checked myself out.
Dammit.
Everything fit perfectly.
And looked a hell of a lot better than the old thrift-store version I’d been dressed in. As much as I loved thrifting, and as much as it had been a life saver for us, the new clothes were more comfortable, and more attractive.
I didn’t like admitting that, but it was the truth.
I fluffed my hair a bit before stepping back into the bathroom to find my mascara. I hadn’t planned on wearing it, but I wanted my face to fit with my pretty, new clothes.
Of course, when I found the makeup tucked away neatly in a drawer, the usual cheap tube was gone. In its place was a half a dozen expensive options, along with even more colors and brands of eyeliner.
I took a minute to apply both.
I didn’t have the heart or willpower to refuse to use the things he’d bought me. They were along the lines of what I would’ve bought myself if money wasn’t a factor anyway.
And I wasn’t a bitch. Not unless it was necessary, at least.
When I was done, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand. It had also been replaced with the newest model at some point after I fell asleep.
