Page 50 of Broken Deal

“Just want to make sure you’re safe.” He flashes one of his killer smiles and the stupid dimple on his left cheek deepens.

Oh, God. This is going to be a long day.

With a normal-temperature coffee in hand, I stand in front of a quaint little boutique displaying aWe’re Closedsign, but that doesn’t deter Lorenzo from knocking on the door.

“Why are we here?” I ask, tilting my head to read the boutique’s name.

He looks over his shoulder, locking his eyes with mine. “Is that your question of the day?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Obviously not.”

The door of the boutique opens, revealing a tall woman with perfect blonde hair. She looks so put together in a light-blue summer cami dress, her wavy hair immaculate. I’m not usually one to feel insecure around other women, but standing here in a shirt that was given to me as a joke and my hair in a messy bun with stray strands everywhere, I can’t help but feel it for a moment. That inevitable sting of inferiority when you compare yourself to a beautiful woman, especially one who has something you wish for—legs for days and the perfect height.

She flashes her perfect smile and waves us in. I hesitate, looking around but not moving.

Lorenzo is halfway inside the store when he stops andturns around. “Why are you standing there? Come on.” He waves his hand for me to join him inside the store.

I cross my arms, frowning. “It would be lovely if you would clue me in as to why the hell we’re here.”

He looks up and closes his eyes for a moment, shaking his head, then strides back to me, placing his hand on my lower back and gently pushing me inside. I hate the power a simple touch from him has over me. It’s unfair. And did I mention already that I hate it? Because I do.

Why are you lying to yourself?

I’m not lying. It does annoy me—among other things I’d rather not put into thought.

The inside of the boutique is cozy and inviting. Dreamcatchers and macrame hang from the ceiling, swaying slightly. The walls are decorated with framed prints of feathers, mandalas, and inspirational quotes. Wooden shelves display an array of accessories—beaded necklaces, chunky bracelets, and wide-brimmed hats. The clothing racks are filled with dresses, patterned skirts, and fringed tops, and most of the clothes have earthy tones and soft fabrics. There are lots of lace details and embroidered designs. A small seating area in one corner has colorful, patterned cushions and a low wooden table stacked with fashion magazines and lavender incense.

I turn around, gaping at him in disbelief. “Am I supposed to give you fashion advise so you can buy clothes for whatever bimbo you’re fucking while we’re here?” The audacity of this man. I know he likes to mess with me, but this is too damn far.

Did you think he was going to keep to himself this summer because you’re around? Did you think you were special?

“You look extremely cute when you’re jealous.” He gives my nose a gentle bop.

“You’re breaking our deal with that comment.” I take a step back, hitting him on the shoulder. “And I amnotjealous,” I hiss.

He fake coughs, trying to hide his laughter. “Whatever you say, Blue. We’re here so you can choose whatever clothes you need. It’s my fault you didn’t pack correctly.” He shrugs. “So, shop away.”

I look around, grabbing one random dress and searching for the price tag. “These don’t even have price tags. Which can only mean one thing—I can’t afford it,” I say, putting the dress back.

He walks to the small seating area, sitting on one of the patterned cushions. “I had them remove all the tags, because I knew you weren’t going to say yes without a fight,” he replies without looking up, grabbing a random magazine and opening it on a random page.

Damn. Am I that predictable?

I lift my chin slightly. “I amnotyour charity case.”

He looks up, and when his gaze finds my face, he gives me a knowing smile, like he was expecting this already. “Never said you were.”

“I can’t accept any of this.”

I’m all too aware I sound annoying, but I don’t do well with thoughtfulness. It makes me uncomfortable. Like I don’t deserve it, because, well—I don’t.

His eyes flash with mischief as he stands, deliberately looking me up and down. My heart hammers wildly, begging to be let free, and my breath hitches at the intensity of his stare. He scrubs his face, hiding his smirk. His muscles flex as he does this move, and I have to force myself to look away to avoid ogling him. I need to get laid, because all I seem to be doing lately is checking him out when I know damn well whathappened yesterday was a one-time slipup and he’soff-limits.

“Tell you what,” he bargains. “If I choose something and it fits you, you’re going to be a good girl and shop without any complaints. Deal?”

Thatgood girlcomment goes straight between my legs, making my core tighten and my cheeks blush.

“Good luck with that,” I reply weakly.

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