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As soon as we’re inside the store, Jason drops his hand from my back, and I feel a pang of disappointment. I like it when he touches me. I know it’s not anything romantic. He’s just being friendly, that’s all, and I could always use another friend.
You don’t have any friends.
Yes, I do. Stop it.
He taps me on the shoulder. “Layla?”
“Hmm? Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you’d help me pick some things out.”
I know he’s just being nice. He’s a grown man; he doesn’t need help shopping. One of the first things I noticed about Jason is that he has great style. No matter what he’s wearing, he looks good in it. His body is a lean, muscular work of art, like a Grecian statue. And his taut skin is like a canvas decorated with dark ink.
I see the way women look at him, like he’s a piece of cheesecake and they want to devour him. We’ve only been in here a few minutes, and already I’ve seen a number of women eyeing him.
Yeah, I know. He’s hot.
Too bad you’re not.
“I need some basics,” he tells me.
I follow him to a display of men’s briefs. Well, they’re sort of like boxers, but they fit more tightly, at least on the mannequins. He rummages around on a display table until he finds the style and size he wants. He selects a package of black underwear.
I glance up at the mannequin that’s wearing the same underwear and feel heat surging up my neck to my face, because now I have a pretty good idea what Jason’s got on beneath his jeans. And if he looks anything like these mannequins do beneath his clothing, thenwow.
Forget it. You’ll never find out.
When he pulls a pair of gray sweatpants off a rack, I can’t help but chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” He seems amused by my reaction.
Blushing, I stifle a laugh. “It’s nothing.”
He wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me close. “Come on, Layla, spill it. What’s so funny about a pair of sweatpants?”
I’m still laughing. “Men in gray sweatpants—it’s a popular meme on social media, that’s all. I told you, it’s nothing.”
But I can tell from the look on his face that he knows exactly what I’m talking about. Grinning, he rolls his eyes at me, and now I’m blushing for sure.
While Jason tries on a pair of black running shoes, I watch a really attractive blonde woman trying on a pair of running shoes as well. She’s paying more attention to Jason than to where she’s going, and she walks right into a display of shoeboxes, sending half a dozen of them tumbling to the ground.
I turn away, pressing my lips together to keep from smiling. I don’t blame her one bit; he is nice to look at.
After Jason buys what he needs here, including the shoes, we walk over to Water Tower Place to find a men’s clothing store. There, he buys a pair of jeans, some T-shirts, a pair of black slacks and a matching jacket, a white button-down shirt, and a black tie.
He also buys a pair of men’s shiny black loafers. “Now I’m ready for any occasion that might arise,” he says. He winks at me.
While we’re here, I can’t resist stopping at the American Girl doll store. “I was crazy about these dolls when I was young,” I tell him.
We walk through the store looking at all the displays, at the dolls and furniture and accessories. He points out a doll with long black hair, dark eyes, and light-brown skin. “This one looks like you.”
I smile. “I have the same exact doll. When I was a kid, I desperately wanted a doll that looked like me. Most of the dolls I saw at the store were blonde or had brown hair or red. I couldn’t find any that looked like me.”
“I know you’re adopted,” he says. “Do you know what your ethnicity is?”
I shake my head. “Not exactly. We know almost nothing about my birth parents—just that they were in high school when my birth mother got pregnant with me. When they found out I was diabetic, they put me up for adoption. I guess they weren’t up to dealing with my health issues. I remember my mom said something about my birth father being a foreign exchange student, but I don’t know where he was from. I think he was from one of the Middle Eastern or North African countries. My birth mother was in foster care at the time she got pregnant, and I don’t think she had a good support system. I don’t blame them for giving me up. They were just kids themselves, and I’m sure they were overwhelmed and scared. I know what that feels like. I’m sure they did what they thought was best for all of us.”
He nods. “That couldn’t have been an easy decision.”
