Chapter 8
Alec
The next day, Stacks allows me to use the van to take Tegan shopping. I pull out of the motel parking lot just outside of Rumson and head toward a strip mall. We didn’t want to stay in Rumson because it’s a bit too expensive for our tastes, and I won’t take her shopping there for the same reasons.
It’s a great hunting ground for our line of work, though.
I pull the van to a stop outside a few outlet stores. It’s not exactly Macy’s, but I hope she won’t complain.
Tegan looks at the shops, then back at me. “I don’t want you to spend that kind of money on me,” she says.
I was worried about the wrong problem. Instead of being offended by outlet stores, she fears they’ll be too expensive.
Her head swivels as she looks at the other shops in the immediate area. She gestures behind us with her chin, and when I look back, I see where she wants to go. It’s a thrift shop.
I shake my head. I want her to have something of her own, not something that once belonged to someone else. A girl like her probably hasn’t had anything that was hers first.
“Just take me over there.” Her hand falls on mine. “Please.”
“Don’t you want something new? And clean?”
“The clothes there will be clean. Trust me, I’ve shopped at these places enough to know which ones wash the items and which ones don’t.” Her chin rises a little, and I know I’ve been beaten.
“Fine, if that’s what you want.”
There’s no point fighting her. She’d just dig her heels in and refuse to enter if I tried to take her anywhere she didn’t want to go. Plus, this genuinely appears to be what she wants.
I back out of the parking spot and head for an empty space in front of the secondhand shop. She nearly springs out of the car once I park. We head inside, and the hum of an old automatic door welcomes us.
The clothing section divides the store, with offerings for men on one side. I head in that direction as Tegan nearly skips to the section for women. She’s genuinely excited about used clothes, and I don’t know whether to be happy or sad for her.
It’s a good pick for both of us, either way. Clothes from secondhand shops are the most convincing tools in my repertoire of lies. With the cash in my wallet, I could easily afford something nice, but I have to play the part. If the rich fucks don’t pity you, they don’t buy your magazines.
My fingers graze the rack of jeans as I try to find a pair in my size.
Everything seems to be too small or much too big.
Baggy shirts are fine, but baggy pants don’t seem to garner the same sympathy.
Plus, they’d drive me nuts. But I finally find a pair of acid-washed jeans with a hole in the back pocket.
I’ll likely make more of them, but the initial worn look is just icing on the cake.
I head to the other side of the store and find Tegan.
With wide eyes, she flips through the racks with a laser focus.
It’s as if she’s never shopped for anything in her life.
Maybe she hasn’t. Maybe this is the first time she’s had the privilege of browsing and picking something she likes rather than grabbing the first thing she sees, tucking it under her arm, and racing out of the store.
“Find anything?” I ask, though I already have my answer. Three shirts and two pairs of jeans dangle from her arm. They’re a little nicer than what we’ll wear while we’re working, but I don’t say anything. I want her to have nice things to wear too.
“I’ll try these on and narrow it down to one set.” She doesn’t look at me as she answers. She just keeps flicking through the rack like a woman on a mission.
“Why pick just one?” I try to take the clothes from her arm, but she pulls away as she adds one more shirt to the pile. “If you want all of them, I’ll buy all of them.”
She shakes her head and heads toward the dressing room. I follow her to the doors, then sit in the metal chair just outside. While she tries on clothes, I check messages on my phone.
There are two texts, and the first is from Stacks. He’s worried we’ll be late getting back with the van, but he has no reason to worry. Unlike some of the less trustworthy members of the crew, I won’t take any detours.
The second message is from Delia.
She’s been texting me a lot more since I picked up Tegan, though I can’t imagine why.
We had a brief fling, but everyone in the crew fucks everyone in the crew.
We always have. I guess Delia read into things more than I intended, because it sure seems like she’s jealous of the attention I’ve been giving Tegan.
I read her message—an offer for a blowjob—and leave it on read. The me from two days ago would have accepted immediately, but now it doesn’t excite me in the slightest. I also don’t want to reinforce this sudden clingy behavior from Delia.
A small grunt comes from the other side of the changing room door. I slip my phone into my pocket and step closer.
“How does it look?” I call through the cheap wooden door.
She grunts, then sighs. “I don’t know. Weird?”
The handle rattles before the door opens, and Tegan steps out. She chose a flattering shirt with a plunging neckline that highlights her tits. I noticed them in the shower, but I’m utterly distracted by them right now. They’re practically pouring out and begging for my mouth.
“You look . . . pretty,” I say.
God, so uncool.
I swallow the saliva gathering beneath my tongue and curse myself under my breath. I didn’t take on this girl so that I could drool all over her. I want to help her, give her a chance to escape the life she had before.
She turns toward me. “Thanks,” she whispers. There’s not an ounce of confidence in her body, though, and that’s not good for business. She needs to own her shit. Believe it. And make others believe it too.
When she turns to go back into the dressing room, I notice her ass for the first time, and it’s absolutely delicious. Something about this woman’s body begs to be grabbed and touched and tasted.
She hurries back behind the safety of privacy.
“Get that outfit and any others you liked,” I say to the closed door. “Bring them to the register when you’re done.” I grab my jeans and head back to the main floor so that I can cool the fuck off.
I also need to find a shirt she can work in. The one she picked is great for my mental portfolio, but it won’t net us any sales. Not in fucking Rumson.
I spot a worn shirt in the corner and grab it from the rack. It might be a touch big on her, but that’s okay. The moth-eaten look will sell it, and being too big is just an added bonus.
The changing room door squeaks open, and I turn to watch her exit. I’m behind a large rack of shirts, so she doesn’t see me as she steps out of the room and begins putting the clothes onto a return rack. I walk over and pick up the discarded clothing before she can hurry away.
“I said you can get them all.” I set the shirt I found on top of the pile. “And this is for work.”
She huffs, then plucks the grungy shirt from the top. “So you want me to look like a cleaner version of my old self?”
I brush her dark hair from her shoulder and lean closer to her. “I want to give you the best chance to succeed in our line of work, pup. Trust me, okay?”
Hurt flashes in her eyes as she realizes that moving forward means going backward. She wants to leave that version of herself in the past, and now I’m asking her to drag it with her.
But it won’t be forever. If she can just do this for a while, we can find something that helps her move forward for good.
“Can you do that?” I ask. “Can you trust me?”
She licks her lips, then nods, and we walk to the checkout counter together.