Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
I follow him through the store wordlessly, no idea where we’re going. It’s weird to be out shopping with him, nothing like when Milo takes me.
I figured he needed to grab something while we were here and that’s where he was leading me, but he stops in the women’s department by the displays of purses and looks at me expectantly.
“Grab what you need.”
“What?”
“You said you left behind your purse and wallet, right? So, pick out new ones. We can try to get your shit back, but it’s probably best to proceed as if you were mugged and just replace it.”
I glance at the purses, but I’m reluctant. “You’re already buying all this stuff for me.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna buy some more, too, so pick out a fucking purse so we can get on with it.”
The things he said after Milo bought me stuff runs through my mind and I don’t know how to address it. He made comments about me “earning” that stuff on my back, basically. I don’t know how to say, “Thanks for being willing to buy all this stuff for me, but I don’t want to keep sleeping with you” without sounding like a complete asshole.
I also need this stuff and have no way of buying it myself.
I tell myself I’ll pay him back for all of it later. Somehow. Once I drop out of school and get a full-time job, sometime after I’ve made enough to pay rent and my first month’s utilities. I’ll treat it like a loan and pay it back in chunks as I can. He probably isn’t hurting for the money, anyway. He lives at home and his home is safe, so if worst came to worst and he didn’t have money, he has a father to ask.
Hopefully.
When I asked Jonathan if I could stay in his room last night, I wasn’t even thinking of the damage I could do to their relationship.
I want to ask Jonathan if he has talked to his dad or if he even knows where he is, but I would also rather die than ask him about Milo this morning.
Dying doesn’t sound so bad today, honestly. I’m heavily leaning toward it as I try to get a grip on my life with literally none of the tools or energy I need to do it.
I walk over to the purses, but it’s not fun like it has been when Milo brought me shopping. It’s not Jonathan’s fault, it just isn’t fucking fun to replace lost things in a situation like this. I grab the cheapest purse I can find that will suit my needs, then pick out a wallet from the clearance rack.
If I had a phone, I would keep track of what it all costs, but since every item in the basket is for me, I suppose I can just ask for the receipt when we leave.
Since I know I’m going to insist on paying him back, my stress only grows when he hauls me over to pick out socks and some new panties. Being in this section with him is awkward even before I have to say, “I don’t need panties. Your dad bought me some.”
“He probably bought stuff that made him want to fuck you. Do you feel like dressing sexy right now?”
Looking down at the ground, I shake my head no.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “Exactly. You need practical shit. So, pick out some underwear, and then we’ll grab you an outfit that won’t make anyone feel like fucking you.”
There’s a lump in my throat. Compassion is the last thing I expected from Jonathan Granville. “Thank you.”
He nods, but I don’t think he likes being forced to acknowledge he’s not being an asshole right now. It almost seems to annoy him.
“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, I just really appreciate you wanting to do all this for me.”
“Keep wasting time and you can name our kid after me to show your appreciation.”
My eyes widen, but the stark reminder that I need to take my medicine kicks my ass into gear and I get to picking out the least sexy panties I can find on the racks.
Once I’ve picked out literally everything I need to feel comfortable today, we head to the register. Jonathan unloads the stuff on the conveyor belt, but he does it like a man—utterly without shame. Since my Plan B was the very first thing to go into the basket, it’s right on top now.
I grab the leg of the pair of leggings I picked out and drape it over the box so I don’t die of embarrassment. I automatically look around to make sure no one saw it and catch the sandy-haired older lady in line behind us shooting me a pinched-face look.
Mortified, I turn around so my back is to her and move forward toward the payment area.