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Chapter 17
DARREN
Past
Bridget looks horrified.
I seriously don’t get this woman at all.
Standing in the middle of the living room, she stares at all the outfits Cheryl had laid out. Cheryl has good taste, and I was sure there would be something in the collection that Bridget would take to. Instead, she eyes the clothing as if they’re bugs instead of designer fashions.
“These don’t look like they cost seventy-eight dollars,” Bridget says sternly.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Like I was going to take your money. It was my idea to get you clothes for the trip. I’m taking care of this.”
Bridget does a double take. “You mentioned an outfit for the wedding. One outfit.”
“So what are you going to wear the rest of the time?”
For a second, she’s speechless. “You got a whole wardrobe?”
“How can you not like clothes? All women like clothes.”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I want a whole new wardrobe!”
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by her reaction. This is the woman who couldn’t deal with accepting a free trip to Thailand. But I thought clothing would be a different story.
“An expensive wardrobe,” she adds, spotting a price tag.
I rub my temple. “It’s not that much more than the airline ticket. I told Cheryl to shop the cheap places for you.”
Bridget’s eyes widen. “Her definition of ‘cheap’ is wildly different from mine.”
“Fine, you can do the shopping.”
“I’ll take care of getting an outfit for the wedding, but I’m not going to buy an entire wardrobe.”
“I’m offering you a shopping spree. Isn’t shopping a woman’s favorite pastime?”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s an old-fashioned stereotype.”
“Yeah? I dare you to ask ten women whether they love to shop or not. The only one saying no would be you.”
“I have clothes.”
“You’re not going to walk around Phuket wearing sweats. For one, you’d be too hot. It’s summer there.”
“I have shorts. Are you embarrassed by what I’m going to wear? That’s it, isn’t it? I’d bring down your image, just like my ugly sweater didn’t mesh with your swanky club.”
I let out a frustrated breath through my nose. I can’t believe we’re having this argument. For a relationship built on sex, Bridget is more effort than I bargained for. “I said we’re not having a discussion about this,” I say.
“You didn’t mention anything about clothes. I can’t pay for this, and I can’t accept his. That’s the end of the discussion.”
I stare at her in disbelief. I want to wring her neck. Or…
Stepping toward her, I grab her and pull her facedown onto my lap while I sweep the shoes Cheryl bought off the coffee table.
“What—are you—”
