Chapter 18
Holt
I used the situation to my advantage and told her that I would be staying with her. Some people might have called me a coward for doing it that way, but I knew Piper would wait until we didn’t have an audience to voice her concerns about the situation.
I love to go toe to toe with her verbally. It is the best form of foreplay. Her eyes sparkle, her soft cheeks get rosy, her tits start to heave. I imagine it is a pale version of what she will look like underneath me.
I open the door and let her walk through it first so that I can lock it. I see her looking around the parking lot curiously.
“I left my bike at work and grabbed the SUV,” I explain to her. She sighs and it looks like she is almost disappointed. She doesn’t have to worry, she will be on the back of my bike again soon enough.
I open the passenger door for her, to her surprise.
To keep her off kilter and for my own sanity, I decide to buckle her in myself.
I pull the seatbelt and lean over her. She leans back in the seat and holds her breath.
I take my time and make sure to lean in a bit closer to her than necessary.
She smells like vanilla and cranberries.
Pulling back slowly, I grin and shut her door.
Chuckling, I make my way around the back of the vehicle and hop in the drivers side.
Piper is quiet. I start the vehicle and pull out of the parking lot.
Out of the corner of my eye, she starts to fidget and I know she is going to start speaking soon.
I school my features to keep a straight face.
“Look, Holt—I—I appreciate everything that you are doing. I don’t want you to think that I am not grateful, but you don’t need to stay with me,” she rambles.
“I mean, you have a business to run, and we don’t even know if the brick was meant for my store or not. Even if it was, I highly doubt they would come to my house,” she states.
When she seems to run out of steam I take a deep breath. I need to handle this situation delicately, for now.
“Piper, until we get some answers we need to take every precaution possible. I need to know you are safe,” I say simply. Hoping that she won’t know how to respond to that last bit. I don’t give her a chance and ask her a question.
“Do you need to stop at the market for anything, we are going right by. Last I checked you had lettuce and a rotten tomato in your fridge,” I say jokingly. The question throws her off course and she nods.
“Actually, I do need a few things,” she concedes. I nod and signal to turn into the parking lot. It isn’t crowded this afternoon, so I pull into a spot close to the front. Before I can tell her to wait, she jumps out.
I catch up to her quickly and snag a cart before she can think about taking a basket. If I’m going to be staying with her, I need some things. They aren’t going to fit in a fucking basket. She raises her eyebrows at me and makes her way to the aisle with the wine.
She grabs two bottles of red wine and puts them in the cart. Then she thinks better of it and picks one back up to inspect the label. Whatever she finds she seems satisfied and places it back in the cart.
“Picky about your grapes,” I ask jokingly. She smirks at me, and crosses her arms across her chest. The move makes my eyes wander down. She must see where my gaze is because she drops her arms. I look back up to her face and grin.
“I’m picky about the alcohol content. If it is under 10% it isn’t worth the time or calories,” she explains and then spins around and heads to the specialty cheese counter. As I follow her, I grab a 6 pack of local beer and put it in the cart next to her wine.
“So what else is on your list,” I ask her. I’m trying to figure out what I’m going to feed her tonight.
“Girl dinner is on my list,” she responds.
Putting 3 different kinds of cheeses in the cart.
She grabs a box of mixed crackers that is sitting next to the aisle and places that in the cart too.
I wordlessly follow her around as she places random items in the cart.
Cherry tomatoes, baby bell peppers, cucumbers, a package of salami, grapes, apples, and hummus.
“Okay, I’m done,” she declares. Blinking, I look at her and then into the cart. These ingredients don’t make a meal. It is a bunch of snacks.
“So, for dinner, you plan on eating cheese and vegetables,” I ask her. Her mouth falls open and my mind wanders back to the gutter for a minute before I hear her response.
“Don’t forget the fruit and the wine,” her tone has a hint of outrage running through it. I chuckle.
“Okay, well, we need to add to the cart,” I say. It is my turn to lead her through the store. I grab a rotisserie chicken, broccoli, potatoes, and rice. Taking her down the dairy aisle I pick up some eggs, bacon, and I finish up with a loaf of bread.
“This should get us through tonight and tomorrow morning,” I explained to her. The look on her face is one of shock.
“What? Did you think I can’t feed myself,” I ask her jokingly. She starts to mumble a response, but I continue on.
“At 38 years old, if I can’t manage to put together a couple of meals, I’m in trouble,” I further explain. She just nods as we head to the register.