Chapter 37 #2
"I know. But you need your own things." His hand slid down to the small of her back. "Besides, getting you out of the house will do you good. Clear your head."
Twenty minutes later, they were in Ghost's truck, heading toward a Target near the waterfront.
The radio played quietly, some classic rock station.
Ghost drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh.
The touch was casual, comfortable, his thumb moving in absent circles against her leg through her jeans.
Rachel looked out the window, watching San Diego pass by.
Saturday morning traffic was light. A jogger with a golden retriever.
A couple walking hand in hand toward a coffee shop.
Normal people doing normal things. It felt strange being out in the open after yesterday's text and this morning's photo. Like she was exposed. Vulnerable.
"No one's following us," Ghost said, reading her mind. "I've been checking."
"How can you be sure?"
"Twelve years of doing this." He glanced at her. "Trust me."
She did. That was the strange part. She trusted him completely, without question, in a way she’d never trusted anyone before.
They parked in the Target lot, which was already starting to fill up with weekend shoppers. Ghost killed the engine but didn't move immediately. He turned to face her, his hand still on her leg.
"You ready?"
She nodded.
"Stay close to me. We go in, get what you need, and get out. Okay?"
"Okay."
He came around and opened her door before she could do it herself, then his hand found the small of her back as they walked toward the entrance, that protective touch that was becoming familiar.
The automatic doors slid open and they were hit with a blast of air conditioning and the overwhelming brightness of fluorescent lights.
Ghost stayed close, his hand never leaving her back as they walked through the aisles. His eyes moved constantly, tracking people, exits, anything out of place. Even here, buying toiletries, he was operational.
Rachel grabbed basics first, a few shirts, one gray henley, one white V-neck. She found a pair of jean shorts, checking the price before dropping them in the cart.
Ghost looked at the single pair, then reached past her and grabbed two more.
"Logan, I only need one—"
"You need more than one pair of shorts baby." He dropped them in the cart like the discussion was over.
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Pick your battles, she told herself.
They moved to the intimates section. Rachel stopped at the pull-out drawers, fingering through the individual pieces. Lace cheeky cuts in black and burgundy. Thongs in jewel tones. The underwear she actually wore, not the practical cotton multipacks.
She pulled out a black lace pair, checked the size, then flipped the tag.
Eight dollars. Each. She did the mental math, three or four pairs would be over thirty dollars just for underwear.
She hesitated, looking at the delicate lace in her hand, then quietly slid it back into the drawer and walked toward the toiletries aisle.
She didn't see Ghost watching. Didn't see the way his eyes tracked to the drawer she'd been looking at, or how his mouth curved slightly when he saw the underwear she’d been considering.
She didn't see him circle back after she'd moved on.
Didn't see him pull open that drawer and grab the black lace pair she'd put back.
Or the burgundy one. Or the emerald green thong.
Or the navy cheeky cut. He added two more for good measure, a deep plum and a black thong, before tucking all six pairs carefully under the shirts in the cart where she wouldn't notice.
In the toiletries aisle, she stood in front of the shampoo options, slightly overwhelmed by the choices.
"What do you usually get?" Ghost asked.
"I don't know. Whatever's on sale." She grabbed a bottle of something that claimed to smell like coconut.
Ghost watched her, arms crossed, leaning against the cart. "You need anything else?"
She looked at the items in the cart, or at least, the items she could see on top. Practical. Basic. The bare minimum to exist in someone else's space for a few days. "I think I'm good."
"You sure? We're here. Get what you need."
There was something about the way he said it, so matter-of-fact, like it was already decided she'd be staying with him indefinitely, that made her chest feel tight and full at the same time.
She grabbed a few more things, a hairbrush, face wash, deodorant, a cheap phone charger in case hers died, then they headed to checkout.
The ashier started scanning items. Beep. Beep. Beep. Rachel watched, mentally tallying what she'd grabbed. The shirts. The shorts, three pairs, because Logan had insisted. Shampoo. Deodorant. Face wash.
Then something black and lacy slid across the scanner. Beep.
Rachel's brow furrowed. She didn't grab that.
Another piece. Burgundy lace. Beep.
Then another. Emerald green. Beep.
Her head snapped toward Ghost. "Wait, I didn't grab those."
He just smiled. That infuriating, knowing smile that said he knew exactly what he'd done.
"Logan—"
Navy. Beep. Plum. Beep. Black again. Beep.
Six pairs of underwear, the exact ones she'd been looking at and put back, sliding across the scanner one by one. The cashier didn't even blink, just kept scanning while Rachel's face heated.
"That's... those aren't..." She gestured at the growing pile of her intimate apparel now sitting on the counter for everyone to see.
The total flashed on the screen. One hundred and twenty-eight dollars.
Rachel immediately reached for her wallet. "Okay, let me—"
Ghost was already sliding his card into the reader, his body angling to block her access to the machine. He didn't even look at her, just waited for the transaction to complete, one hand casually resting on the card reader like a barrier.
"Logan, you don't have to—"
The machine beeped. Transaction approved.
He finally looked at her then, giving her that look. The one that said don't argue with me. The one that was somehow both stern and affectionate at the same time.
She closed her mouth, her wallet still in her hand. But she wasn't done with this conversation.
The cashier bagged everything, including the six pairs of lace and silk that Ghost had apparently memorized from watching her at the drawer. Rachel took the bags, her face still warm, and headed for the exit.
Ghost followed, completely unbothered, that small smile still playing at the corner of his mouth.
Ghost loaded the bags into the truck bed while Rachel climbed into the passenger seat, her jaw set. When he slid behind the wheel, she turned to face him.
"You didn't have to do all of that."
He started the engine. "I know."
"I could have paid for my own things."
"I know that too." He backed out of the parking spot, one hand on the wheel, completely unbothered by her protest.
"But there was a lot of extra stuff in there. The extra shorts, all those—" She gestured vaguely, not wanting to say 'underwear' out loud in the Target parking lot. "You didn't have to grab all of that."
Ghost pulled out onto the main road, then glanced at her. "I didn't have to. I wanted to."
"Logan—"
"You deserve to be taken care of, Rachel." His voice was firm. Final. "Let me do that."
She opened her mouth to protest again, to say she didn't need taking care of, that she'd been doing just fine on her own, that accepting his help made her feel dependent and vulnerable and,
He pulled up to a red light, put the truck in park, and turned to face her, then leaned across the center console, one hand sliding into her hair, and kissed her.
Not gentle. Not sweet. Hard and thorough and demanding, kissing her like he was making a point.
His tongue swept into her mouth and she forgot what she'd been about to say.
Forgot how to form words. Her hands came up to grip his shirt, holding on as he thoroughly dismantled every argument she'd been building.
When he finally pulled back, she was breathing hard, her lips swollen, her mind completely blank.
He looked at her, satisfaction clear in his eyes. "Good. Now that you're speechless, let's go home."
The light turned green. He put the truck back in drive and pulled forward, his hand finding her thigh like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just kissed every coherent thought out of her head in the middle of a San Diego intersection.
Rachel sat there, stunned, her fingers touching her lips. Then, despite herself, she started to laugh.
"That's cheating," she said.
His mouth curved. "That's effective."
She shook her head, but she was smiling now. Her hand covered his on her thigh, threading their fingers together. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For all of it."
He glanced at her, his expression softening. "You're welcome."
They drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence, hands linked, the bags of things he'd insisted on buying rustling in the truck bed behind them.
***
By early afternoon, they were back at the house.
Rachel unpacked her things in the bathroom, setting her toothbrush in the holder next to his, arranging her shampoo and conditioner on the shower shelf beside his body wash.
It felt significant somehow. Intimate in a way that went beyond sex.
Like she was claiming space in his life, not just his house.
She studied their reflections in the mirror. His toothbrush was blue. Hers was purple. Such a small thing, but it made something warm spread through her chest.
When she came back out to the living room, Ghost was gone.
She found him in the garage, the door rolled up to let in air.
He had a pull-up bar mounted to the ceiling and was halfway through a set, muscles flexing with each rep.
Sweat glistened on his skin, dampening his gray T-shirt.
His breathing was controlled, steady, even though she could see the strain in his arms and shoulders.