Chapter 7 #2
“Alright, brat. I changed.” Logan plants himself close enough to me that he’s touching me, and I smile awkwardly at the cashier.
“Give him the tag.”
Logan wordlessly fumbles beside me, managing to find it and rip it off the clothing. “Here.”
The less-than-friendly tone has me looking up at him just before his heavy arm slumps around my shoulders.
I almost want to apologize on his behalf.
He’s clearly annoyed with me and taking it out on our cashier.
But if the stranger is bothered by it, he doesn’t show it.
He’s less smiley and talkative than before, but still polite.
I ignore Logan when he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and tap my phone before he can pay himself. “It’s my fault you had to change,” I explain. “Can we get a bag for his—where’s the one you were wearing?”
“I tossed it.”
“Why? Don’t just throw your clothes away, Logan.” Sometimes I wonder how his mom coped, raising such a hellion. “Never mind the bag,” I tell the worker before I’m once again dragging Logan around the store. “You shouldn’t have tossed it.”
He huffs. “I wasn’t gonna wear it anymore.”
“But why?” Personally, I would have donated it before it got to that level of wear, but from what I’ve seen from him, he could have gotten years’ worth of use out of it.
It wasn’t the nicest of his clothes, but it looked comfortable.
It would have made a good sleeping shirt.
I would have worn it, not in public but in bed.
Yeah. I definitely would have put the shirt Logan wore to near death in my pajama rotation.
“You hated it enough to make me change,” he grumbles.
“I—” Didn’t hate it. It was stupid and gimmicky and made me wonder if any girls had ever called him daddy, but I didn’t hate it. If I did, that shouldn’t have mattered.
It does give me some solace that he thinks I wanted him to change just because I didn’t like what he was wearing. That probably means that he wasn’t as upset about the bite mark as I assumed.
“Well, it was ugly,” I go along with it for my sanity. “Let’s look some more.” I lead him back to the rack we started at and go back to rifling through them. “You could help, you know? Find some pants you like—not jeans.”
“Fine.” But he makes no moves to do so. He keeps on standing there, his broad shoulders squared a bit.
“Why are you so moody?” It’s come out of nowhere. I mean, he does think I hated his silly tee, but that can’t be why he’s so irritable.
“You’re calling me moody?”
“Yes. Because you are.”
“You are!”
“Not at the moment.” He opens his mouth to argue, but I beat him to it. “Besides, it’s cute on me.” I hold up a black top in front of him and decide that a different collar is needed. This one is too open. I don’t want a bunch of rich girls drooling over his chest.
I wonder if the bite will still be visible then. I’m making him hide it now, while we’re surrounded by people who have no business knowing ours, but the girls are expecting a couple. If we were a couple, I’d bite him all over, all the time.
I’d bite his butt. My marks would look adorable on his muscular booty. On his abs. His thighs. Yeah, they’d definitely look good on his thick thighs.
“If you say so.”
I blink. Collar, I remind myself of the topic at hand. Turns out, I do want them to see the brutal hickey on his neck.
I go back to looking once I make up my mind, but seconds later, he’s huffing all to himself like the brat he claims I am. “Logan.” I give him an admonishing head shake, but can’t keep the hint of a smile off my cheeks. “What is it?” Something is bugging him.
“I want to go somewhere else.”
“You’ve barely looked at anything. I’m sure we can find something nice here—and this place is pretty affordable.” I like this store. It’s where designer items that either nobody wanted or couldn’t afford comes to die. “We’ve only looked at one rack.”
“I want to leave, Baby.”
I purse my lips.
It takes a moment before he cracks. “I don’t like that guy.” He steps closer, looming over me so he can speak more quietly.
“Who?”
“The—” He repositions himself when I try to find that guy, standing much too closely and making it impossible to see anything around him. “Worker—cashier, whatever. He’s… unprofessional.”
I scoff, stumped to the fullest degree. “He didn’t do anything unprofessional.”
“Let’s go to a different store.” He doesn’t wait for me as he walks towards the exit.
I turn around to see the guy in question and catch him watching Logan walk away with the tiniest frown.
Huh. When he feels my eyes on him, he looks back and grins—customer service face in effect.
I smile back in that awkward way humans do, but then Logan’s giant hand is wrapped around my bicep, and I’m being pulled away.
“Wait!” I don’t even have the chance to hang the shirt back up. It falls right there on the ground. Logan’s apparent nemesis is probably going to have to pick it up.
I have no choice but to let him drag me along and wonder just what the hell his problem is.