Chapter 23
Erica
Putting on a brave face, I let Ari lead me toward the outdoor shopping mall.
Vann always told me it was my own fault that it was so hard for me to shop in public.
Not only did my hormonal issues cause me to be a bit thicker than the average woman’s body, but with my preferences leaning toward goth-rocker-chic, it was usually difficult to shop in places like this.
But I want to enjoy this day with Ari, so I vow to try and tuck away my insecurities and ignore Vann’s voice in the back of my mind.
The first store we come to looks surprisingly up my alley. It’s a fandom novelty-type of store, carrying everything from clothes to housewares and blankets to handbags, adorned with bands, movies, television shows, and books that the world currently loved and obsessed over.
Ari of course notices my excitement and wandering eyes. His relief visible at my happiness. His shoulders loosen, and he lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles before encouraging me to drag him around.
“Oh gosh! Look!” I squeal, spotting a stack of Atlantica band shirts. “First, I want one.” Raising my pointer finger for emphasis, then my middle finger. “Second, you should ask them if you can sign them.”
His jaw drops slightly before he recovers and shakes his head. “You never cease to amaze,” he mumbles into the top of my head, dropping a kiss there before heading to the counter and asking the clerk if he could sign them, and if he had a sharpie.
He ends up signing a few more things for the teenager before making it back to where I continue my perusal of the store, only the Atlantica shirt hung over my arm.
There is a small mental list of things I like but didn’t want to assume or take advantage of Ari.
I hate that I don’t have my own money to spend.
“What all have you got here?” he asks as his eyebrows scrunch at the single garment I’d grabbed, shaking his head. “This just won’t do.” He says in a fake accent that makes me laugh. “I want you to have everything you want.”
I’m fairly certain we’re still talking about shopping, but I also have a sneaking suspicion this was about more than just the shopping.
Having picked up on things I liked over our weeks together, he starts holding up items he thinks I might like.
He’s surprisingly accurate, grabbing multiple things I had on that little mental list I was keeping, and even a few I hadn’t noticed until he’d showed me, including an epic pair of black sunglasses that are somehow cat eye and heart shaped at the same time.
By the time I finally drag him to the checkout to keep him from trying to buy me the whole store, what we did get fills their largest shopping bag. The boy behind the register smiles and waves as we make our way out of the store and I pull my new favorite sunglasses over my eyes.
Having spent so much time with the band now, I sometimes manage to forget they’re worldwide celebrities. When we’re stuffing our faces with pizza or making fun of something ridiculous Scooter does, they are just like regular people . . . that are actually merpeople.
Releasing a sound between a scoff and snort at my thoughts, Ari raises an eyebrow at me, but I just smile and shake my head as we move through the doors of the next shop.
My shoulders immediately tense at the classy, upscale environment.
Not that I care about the clothing style or people who comfortably shop here, but I don’t even see anything black from where we stand at the entrance when an obnoxiously beautiful woman approaches with a smile on her face directed only at Ari.
Either she knows who he is or she can smell the dollar signs he has tucked in the wallet in his back pocket. Irritation worms through me when she angles her body toward Ari, still only talking to him, practically purring, “What can I help you find today?”
Instead of replying, he looks to me for an answer.
Flustered at the unexpected redirection, but warmed by his awareness at my discomfort, I think for a heartbeat of how I want to respond.
“I don’t think I see anything for us in here.
” I try to infuse confidence in my words, making it clear that we were an “us” and this boutique isn’t exactly our style.
Not that it isn’t clear, with me in my usual black ambiance and Ari matching me.
I’d started to notice he used to wear a lot more color on tours and interviews and things, but since I joined the band, he has switched to choosing more and more black.
There could be any reason for it, but I can’t help but let myself believe that he does it for me.
I love it. Not that he wasn’t always insanely beautiful in the most unfair ways, but the black clothes make the bright red of his hair and royal blue of his eyes so much brighter. Like beacons, drawing you in.
The attendant’s smile drops, her eyes darting toward me and assessing me from toe to top.
I catch a barely visible sneer on her lips before she schools her features, and once again returns her attention to Ari.
One look at him tells me that he saw it too, and he’s not fucking happy about it.
It shouldn’t make me all warm and fuzzy when he’s angry, but it does.
I’m only human after all, and there’s just something about knowing he has my back.
After he had a few choice words for the woman and we stomped out of the store, he let me pick the next one. I assume, in hopes that it would have something I like and make up for the last one.
We pop in and out of a few more, but none of them have anything that I’d want him spending money on. Then we step into a store that I instantly know has nothing for me. I’ve already forgotten the name on the sign above the door, but their branding makes it clear who this store is for.
I’m about to whip us around and back out the door when one of the shoppers squeals, having noticed Ari and clearly knows who he is.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help the sigh that I release.
He offers me an apologetic smile before pasting his fake smile on that he uses for things he doesn’t want to do, like certain interviews.
“Oh my god! It’s Ari Seabrook! You’re the singer for Atlantica!” She continues squealing, telling him who he is like he doesn’t know. I barely manage to keep my eyes from rolling. My irritation isn’t with him—or really her either. It’s the store.
A large decal against the far wall that advertises “A Place Where Smalls & Mediums Can Shop In Peace.” I wish I were fucking kidding. Like having to shop alongside people in a size large or bigger is such an inconvenience or has an impact on their life.
To keep the young woman from seeing my scowl, I turn and face the door, ready to leave. It’s not her fault I walked into this store. She should be allowed to fangirl over a celebrity she sees in public like anyone else I keep coaching myself, as I wait until we can leave.