Page 11 of My Dream

“So, in what world do you think I’d leave you here while I go get the groceries?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Sorry, I forgot for a minute that there are crazy people trying to kill me. I guess Walmart will do that to a girl.” I flipped through the rack and grabbed a pair of shorts with pineapples on them and also a red plaid pair.

“I don’t think Walmart has anything to do with it,” Compass grumbled.

“Walmart makes you forget the world is out to get you, but then it also gives you the Walmart sweats a minute later.”

I glanced around and searched for the dressing rooms. They weren’t exactly easy to spot in this maze of aisles and fluorescent lighting. I looked at Compass, who trailed behind me with a permanent scowl etched on his face.

“Putting sunscreen on my back is easier than finding this damn dressing room,” I muttered.

He threw his hands up, exasperated. “I swear, Fallon, half the shit you say might as well be in another language.”

I smirked and pointed toward the back corner of the clothing section, where there was an entrance to a row of doors. “Oh, right there. Am I allowed to go in by myself, or do you want to help me try these on?”

His gaze flickered over me, head to toe, in that way he thought was subtle but absolutely wasn’t. I could practically hear the internal debate happening behind those stormy eyes of his. Finally, he exhaled sharply. “I’ll be right outside the door,” he said flatly, like it was a chore just to exist near me.

“Suit yourself.” I shrugged and tossed the pile of clothes over my shoulder. Without waiting for a response, I crossed the aisle and headed straight for the fitting rooms.

A middle-aged attendant in a blue vest intercepted me at the entrance to the fitting rooms, her sharp eyes taking in my pile of clothes. “How many you got there?”

“Five,” I said and lifted my chin toward Compass, who was now standing behind the cart like some kind of bored bodyguard. “And a grumpy biker.”

The woman’s lips twitched into a grin. Her gaze slid over to Compass and lingered a little too long. “Looks more like a dream biker.”

I tilted my head to the side and pretended to consider her words. “Is that, like, a dream Barbie? All packaged up but not much to do with her?”

She laughed lightly. “Oh, I bet there’s a whole lot more you can do with him than you ever could with Barbie.”

My eyes darted back to Compass, and his expression hadn’t changed one bit. His jaw was still locked tight; his arms crossed over his broad chest like he was the world’s angriest statue.

“Maybe,” I muttered noncommittally.

The woman handed me a bright yellow tag with the number five on it and motioned for me to follow her. She led meto a changing room, opened the door, and hung the tag on the hook. As I stepped forward to enter, Compass moved faster than I expected and brushed past me to peek into the small room.

He took a long, slow look around, then stepped back. “You’re good.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure you don’t want to come in? Hold my hand or something?”

“Just try the damn clothes on, Fallon,” he grumbled and retreated to his post by the entrance.

The fitting room attendant laughed softly and shook her head. “I can see why you call him grumpy, but I’ll admit—his good looks make up for it.”

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me as the flimsy lock clicked into place. “Yeah, well, good looks don’t stop him from being a pain in my ass,” I muttered to myself.

I tossed the pile of clothes on the small bench in the corner. I turned to face the mirror and let out a frustrated sigh as I caught my reflection. My face looked tired—like I hadn’t slept well in days, which was true. Pale dark circles clung stubbornly beneath my eyes, and my hair, despite being pulled back into a loose ponytail, still managed to look like it had fought its way through a windstorm.

I tugged at the hem of my black long-sleeve shirt, which clung to me a little too tightly. It wasn’t exactly flattering, but it was practical, and that’s all I’d cared about when I’d thrown clothes in my bag. My jeans were no better—faded and fraying at the knees, a pair I’d had for so long they felt more like a second skin than clothing. And the tan boots? Scuffed to hell but sturdy. Perfect for trudging through the chaos of the day, even if they weren’t the most fashionable.

Compass was good-looking—infuriatingly so. I’m sure the fitting room attendant thought we were together and wondered how I had managed to land a man like Compass.

I let out a flat laugh. If only that woman really knew why Compass was sticking to me like a fly.

“Five minutes,” Compass droned from down the way.

I rolled my eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The man needed to take a damn chill pill. This was Walmart, for crying out loud. What did he think was going to happen?

I slipped out of my jeans and grabbed the first pair of shorts that were red plaid. I pulled them on and adjusted the waistband before taking a step back to look in the mirror. They were cute.

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