Page 22 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

“Where are we starting?” she asked.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Lead the way, Mrs. Mosley.” She tensed up a little at that, but she didn’t argue.

Not too long after that, I sat back in one of the plush chairs outside the dressing room, legs spread, hands resting on my thighs, watching as Parker strutted out in yet another dress. This one was hunter green, tight, hugging her curves in a way that made my fingers twitch.

She did a slow turn in the mirror, studying herself. “Too much?”

I tilted my head. “Too much for who?”

She met my gaze in the mirror. “For the meeting.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Parker, you’re my wife. Ain’t no such thing as too much.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she turned back to the mirror, smoothing her hands down her hips, acting like my words hadn’t affected her. But I saw the way her breathing changed. Yeah, I was in her head.

She tried on a few more dresses—black, blue, red—but the green one stuck with me. It was bold. Attention-grabbing. Just like her. “That one,” I said when she came out in it again. “That’s the one.”

She glanced at me. “You sure?”

I nodded once. “Yeah. Get some shoes to match, too.” She grinned like she’d just won something and disappeared back into the dressing room. As I waited for her, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, seeing my father’s name flash across the screen. My jaw flexed.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“You ready for tomorrow?” His deep voice cut through the noise of the mall.

“I wouldn’t be in this position if I wasn’t.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “Good. Just don’t let distractions knock you off your game.”

I already knew what the fuck he was implying. My eyes flickered toward the dressing room where Parker was. “Don’t worry about me.”

He barked out a laugh before it faded into something more serious. “Just handle shit tomorrow. And keep your woman in line.” The call ended before I could respond.

I sucked my teeth and slid the phone back into my pocket, my jaw tight, my mood already shifting. And then, I saw him. Some Carlton Banks looking nigga standing too damn close to my wife.

Parker was by the register, shopping bags on the counter, smiling up at some tall-ass dude with locs, looking real friendly. Too friendly. He said something that made her laugh, and then, like he had lost his fucking mind, he hugged her.

I was already moving. The second I reached them, I grabbed the back of his head and slammed it against the counter. The sound of his forehead cracking against the glass echoed through the store. The dude hollered, clutching his face, stumbling back.

“Shooter, what the fuck?!” Parker shrieked.

I stepped forward, grabbing his shirt and jerking him toward me. His eyes were wide, blood trickling down his forehead.

“You know who she belong to?” I growled.

“Man, I didn’t—”

I slammed his head down again, making sure he understood. “Shooter!” Parker yelled, shoving at my arm.

The sales associate gasped. “I-I’m calling the police!”

I turned my head, eyes locking onto her. “Go ahead,” I dared. “Call ‘em.” Her face drained of all color. She didn’t move. I looked back at the nigga in my grip. “You know my wife?”

He nodded frantically. “Y-yeah, from college, man, I ain’t know she was—”

“You know now.”

I released him with a shove. He damn near tripped over himself trying to get out of the store. Parker stood there, jaw clenched, breathing heavily, face red with embarrassment. I smirked. She snatched her bags off the counter and stormed out. I followed her, catching up easily as she stomped through the mall, heels clicking angrily. She didn’t get far.

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