Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Henry
“You said I should buy something to sleep in.” Summer grabs my hand as soon as we walk into Walmart. “Let’s go get that first.”
The Ladies' sleep section has more satin than I expected for a discount superstore.
She holds up a white negligee that looks like some knock-off wedding night get up. “How about this?”
I imagine her generous hips making the satin sway in the hall light and how the fabric would feel under my hands as I pushed it up to her waist. Fuck, no.
I look around and grab a T-shirt and shorts set instead.
It’s a peachy pink color and covered in hideous green flamingos. “This. It’s cotton and comfortable.”
She shrugs and takes it from me. “All right.” Then she flips through the same rack and picks another cotton set, this one turquoise and covered in lemons and oranges. “This one is cute, too. It looks comfy, right?” She held it up against her body. “Should I try them on?”
The answer should be yes. But I am a stupid man who doesn’t want to risk being dragged into a dressing room to watch a barely legal teenage girl get changed on the other side of a particleboard half-door. So I say no, they’re fine, and we keep shopping.
I watch her pick out two sundresses—shorter than the one she’s wearing now—before she drags me into the underwear aisle.
When she reaches for a perfectly innocent pack of white bikini briefs, I nearly fall over myself to get out of there. Not my finest hour. “I’m gonna grab some groceries,” I mutter.
It’s not until we get home and she puts on her PJs—ones I told her to buy—that I realize I should have suffered through the potential changing room embarrassment.
Because the woman who comes tripping out of the bedroom in the cotton set covered in fucking ugly flamingos is the sexiest person I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
The shorts are no better than the panties she wore the night before; they just have an added frill around the leg holes.
And the stretchy T-shirt is thin enough that not only can I see the shape of her round and full breasts but also the individual bumps of the areola around her nipples.
She looks like a serving of peach sorbet.
I want to gobble her up.
“Is this better than me wandering around in my underwear?”
God, yes. And fuck, no. I grab a cushion and cover my junk. “You like it?”
She rubs her hands over her hips, then grins. “It’s so comfortable. You were right.”
I was fucking wrong.
And I’m going to hell.