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People always wanted to shop with me. I never really wanted to, but I’d gotten used to it. “Want to?” Zeke tilted his head.
I nodded. I wouldn’t mind taking a break from how confusing he was to my emotions. I hated shopping, but at least I knew how to do it. “Can’t.”
Zeke reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card before sliding it over to me. I stared at it. He’d said he would pay for me while I was here. But still I didn’t want to go shopping on his dime like it was nothing at all. I took it just in case, but I wasn’t going to spend money. I’d go with them, but I wouldn’t buy for me. That was always fairly easy to get away with. No one really wanted to shop with me for me. It was for them. And I was glad to help.
I turned toward Zeke. “Is it okay? Honey?”
“Sure.” His mouth twitched. “Danette, you have my address? You’ll have her back by three? I need her tonight. So, she has to get ready.” His gaze fell to me again. “Don’t be gone too long, princess. I’ll miss you too much if you spend the whole day away.”
I wanted to roll my eyes at myself. He didn’t mean it. I wasn’t his princess any more than he was my honey. Even if I wished such a life could exist.
14
Danette knew all the best thrift shops in town, and she and her friend Mariana were very lively and fun. Every once in a while, Mariana and I stumbled in the language department. French wasn’t her first language, she’d actually been born in Portugal and English was her third language. Considering I couldn’t speak anything but English, I wasn’t one to judge. I think they found me cute, despite their being two years younger than me, and we all got on just fine. By the end of the excursion, they’d bought every designer thing they spotted in the stores and really didn’t need my help at all in selecting their clothing, which was good since I absolutely was not in the mood to play stylist.
I was too worked up about Zeke. By the tenth selfie the girls and I took, I was over that, too. It wasn’t like I minded. I didn’t have friends who didn’t want to pose with me. That was just how it went. But I was cranky, sore from my run— which was getting worse by the moment—and flustered.
What did it mean that he kept kissing me and then changing his mind? Or maybe he just went around kissing lots of people.That woman from the first day in the café had certainly made it seem like he was love them and leave them.
Four days or something like that.
Maybe I should feel lucky he seemed so pseudo-disinterested. But fuck. I wasn’t uninterested. I wanted his attention. I wanted to feel his hard muscles push down on me in the bed. I wanted his mouth on my nipples. I wanted to lick the sweat off his body.
I shook my head. This kind of thinking really didn’t help anything. If I didn’t want him to kiss me and get me all worked up, I would simply tell him to keep his hands to himself. And I would stay out of his bed to avoid any future embarrassments when my guard was down in the morning.
No more muss, no more fuss.
We were getting ready to leave the store when I stopped abruptly. It had been a long time since a shirt caught my attention the way the one in front of me did. It was a plain white T-shirt with the word$5 Graphic Tee Shirtacross the front. I grinned. The meta-irony of that was sort of fantastic. Maybe it was kind of dumb, but it was sort of perfect in its ridiculousness. I had to have it.
I rushed over and grabbed it. I didn’t own anything like it. What would I pair it with? I was going to need jeans. That was great. This place had that, too. Oh, and then there was a really cute bunch of socks with cats on them. When was the last time I had wanted to shop? Well, I’d never had the option to own clothes like this.
This stuff was cheesy, not the latest fashion, and no one was going to want to emulate me for wearing them, but I had to have this stuff. For the first time in a long while, it felt like I had found something that spoke to me. I might have finally done what people bought my book to learn, I might have found my fashion.
And it was pure, undiluted vintage cheese meshed with irony and ridiculousness. I’d never have guessed it.
Oh, there was a picture on that T-shirt of a soda that saidDon’t Drink Sodaand another one that saidThis Shirt Sucks.I laughed. This was fantastic. Some of them were in French. I skipped over them. Whoever had selected their English graphic tees had really made my day. Forget Zeke. This was fun.
Danette dropped me off outside of Zeke’s house and gave me a hug. She wanted to do this again sometime, but I was done with clothes shopping for a while. I walked past the guard, waving at him, and entered the house. I wondered if there would ever come a time I didn’t flinch at the downstairs. As far as I could tell, outside of the kitchen, Zeke spent almost no time there at all.
And I didn’t blame him one bit. It was awful.
I carried my few bags upstairs. Zeke was yelling on the phone with someone, and I winced. That did not sound like happiness. My stomach clenched. I’d missed a meal. It really was amazing how quickly I’d adjusted to this constant eating.
Quickly—because I’d been practically giddy to put on my new clothes the whole ride home—I changed into my jeans. They had ripped holes in the knees. I was pretty sure they’d been designed that way because they were too symmetrical to be manmade. Then I put on my$5T-shirt. It had cost the equivalent of two American dollars.
There was some sort of crazy irony in that, too. Really, I was enjoying this way too much.
I finally looked down at my phone. I had messages from my sisters. A lot of them. And one from Justin, plus one from Kit. My stomach clenched. It was the last two that made me avoid the phone.
Unable to even open the app to see what they said, I scrolled through my social media presence instead. There I was. KissingZeke on the dance floor. Great. He’d be getting what he wanted. My father had to be hearing about this and reacting soon. If he hadn’t already. Maybe that was why Zeke was yelling.
I put on my sneakers and braided my hair into two long braids à la Heidi because I felt like it and it let me avoid my messages for a few minutes later. Lip gloss seemed to complete the outfit, so I put some on, too.
With a sigh, I finally looked at what had been sent to me.
You’re making out with Zeke!That was Hope. She messaged a few minutes later.Holy. Fucking. Shit. I mean…Layla, I am speechless.
I grinned and texted her back.Long story, but yes, I am making out with him. There was more to say, and I’d say it later when this little experiment to get under my father’s skin was over. Then she could hear the whole frustrating tale.
