Bad Wolf(80)

"Where are we going?" I start after her as she makes a beeline for the bus stop, fascinated by the sway of her ass and her swinging ponytail. It catches the sunlight, breaking into strands of ebony, auburn, copper and gold.

But fuck, that ass …

"It's a shop Kayla told me about," she says, "run by a friend of hers. Trust me, it will be good."

"How so? Have you ever been there? Have you seen their stock?"

"No." She throws a smile over her shoulder at me, and I hastily look away from her sexy backside. "But I've seen photos. And I trust Kayla."

"You hardly know her!"

Yet that smile stays with me, breaking down my resistance as I jog to keep up.

"Ev vouched for her before I moved into the apartment, and despite some weird glitches in the Matrix, she seems very nice."

I chuckle. What a strange girl. "What about you? Do they have girly clothes there, too?"

"Girly." She makes a face as she checks the bus timetable. "If you mean women's clothes, yes, they do, and no, I still don't know what to wear. This sucks."

"I'll make sure you have fun this time at the reception," I tell her back, studying the light spattering of freckles on her shoulders. "You'll see."

She turns around, her mouth opening in a startled "o," but she says nothing, and I wonder why. One thing's for sure: I'd love a glimpse inside her mind. I bet it's just as devastatingly complex and beautiful as the rest of her.

Yeah …  Dammit. Told you. She's fucking dangerous.



We step off the bus and turn into a quiet side street. Cold slithers down my spine as I trudge after Amber. This place looks somehow familiar. I can't put my finger on it, though.                       
       
           



       

It's not a pretty part of town. The walls are covered in bad graffiti-which makes me itch to redo them-and there's trash piled up on street corners. The entrances to the buildings are dirty, strewn with paper and plastic, with puddles that looks like piss. Smell like piss, too. The humid heat is unforgiving, lifting the sour stench of rotting meat and other trash, waving it into our faces.

Familiar smells. Familiar sights. I frown, shoving my hands into my pockets. So much familiar. Can't say I feel nostalgic, though. The itch under my skin is more like remembered fear. I haven't missed that.

"What happened to department stores?" I ask as we reach the end and find ourselves in another noisy, main street. "Shopping malls? Does that ring any bells?"

She bites her lip. "Remember I don't like parties?"

"Yeah. What's that got to do with it?"

"Crowds?" She shrugs. "I hate crowds."

Right. I knew that, dammit. "So where's this famous shop?"

"Come." She grabs my hand, and the rest of the walk goes by in a haze, the press of her slim fingers in mine burning like a fresh brand. The fire spreads through my limbs, gathering speed as her fingers clench around mine. I catch a whiff of her scent-sunshine and coconut-and the heat shoots straight to my dick.

Hell. I harden so fast I have to slow down, reach into my jeans and adjust myself quickly. Gritting my teeth, I look up-and find Amber's eyes on the front of my pants.

Well, fuck me with a joystick. And damn, I can't tell what she's thinking. Can't see her expression.

Until she glances up, blue eyes darkening, and it's like I've been hit by a freight train. Desire, that's what it looks like, and her soft mouth is so close, I only need to take one step to close the distance between us and-

"The shop is here," she says, swallowing hard, and gestures at something behind me.

What? I turn as if through water and blink at the small shop fronts lining the noisy street.

 … Right. My brain slowly catches up. The shop we came for.

I belatedly nod, but she's already walking by, leaving me behind.

I scrub a hand over my face.

You're so stupid, Jesse, thinking you can read her. She's not the kind of girl you're used to. She isn't looking for a night of cheap fun with you, have you forgotten? She doesn't even really like you.

Besides, she deserves better, and you know it.



I'm distracted. Hell, I'm going out of my fucking mind inside the small, stuffy shop with Amber so close and yet so far she could be on the far side of the moon. She holds out pants and shirts for me to check. I grab them from her, give them a cursory glance and throw them on a handy nearby chair.

Why in the holy fuck did I ever think this was a good idea?

"What do you think of this one?" she asks, drawing me out of my latest self-flagellation. She's holding a gray metallic mini dress to her chest.

"It would certainly flatter my legs," I say automatically, not even bothering to check if my mouth is connected to my brain. "Don't know about the cleavage, though. I think I'll need a Wonderbra to pull it off."

She gapes at me.

Yeah. Okay, maybe it wasn't so funny. "Of course, it would suit you, too." I try to salvage the situation. "You won't even need a Wonderbra. And you can wear heels, so … "

I wince.

When she claps a hand over her mouth, I'm sure it's to keep from insulting me and my mother-though who my mother is, I don't know, so why should I care?

But the sound escaping her is more like laughter.

Okay, cool. I step back, sink onto the chair-on top of all the clothes I've been piling.

"Oh my God." Still laughing, she grabs my arm and attempts to wrestle me back to my feet. I consider pulling her to me instead, onto my lap. Just the image has me hardening again-wait, scratch that, hardening more-and I know it's a bad idea.

I know, okay?

Which is why I let her tug me to my feet and pretend to study the garments she chose for me while she goes off to the changing room to try on the dress.

I'm in the process of pulling a shirt over my head, a metallic blue fabric that scratches my face, when I hear her voice again.

"What do you think?"

"Give a man a moment to breathe," I gasp as I struggle to shove my head through the opening. It's too small. What the fuck?

A light giggle, a light pressure, and the opening widens enough for my head to pop out.

"You didn't unbutton it all the way to the top," Amber says, smiling.

I blink at her, and as she comes into focus, I blink again.                       
       
           



       

Whoa. The little silver dress clings to her body, outlining her curves, from her heavy tits to the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. She isn't skinny, and I like that. I can imagine filling my hands with her ass and her breasts, and the image has my dick roaring back to life.

Dammit.

But it's her smile that does me in. A little uncertain, insecure, yet bright as I look at her.

Not sure what she sees on my face, though, because her smile fades and she tugs at the hem of her dress. It only serves to pull it down, so that the cleavage deepens, giving me a glimpse of the pale mounds of her tits.

"Not good, huh?" She looks down at herself, her mouth downturned.

"It's perfect," I tell her and mean it. She's perfect. Prettiest girl I've ever seen. Christ.

Her smile returns. "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself."

Gah. I forgot I have a new shirt on. Metallic, too, like hers, and I haven't even glanced at the price tag. "We'll match."

Her eyes widen a fraction before she catches herself. She bends to pick up some black pants from the chair, and I ogle her, unable to stop myself.

"Try these on." Her voice has a slight tremor to it, and I want to grab her chin and tell her I want her, I need her, I'm dying to kiss her.

But I don't. Come on, I'm not that stupid. So I take the pants and go to change.



Although I've been to a few stores and bought stuff, it feels weird. I try not to stare at the amount I'm paying for the shirt and pants, plus a pair of faded jeans and two plain T-shirts Amber helped me pick out.

She says what I'm paying is not expensive.

Hard to believe it when a year ago that amount would have covered my expenses for weeks. Granted, expenses only included food-and condoms, because dying of STD isn't a good way to go, and they never gave us enough at the centers-as I could take free showers at the shelter where I stayed whenever there was a free bed. During winter, I would even hang around the shelter, even if there was no place to stay.

I hate winters. Too fucking cold.

I shiver and find Amber's hand on my arm.

"Okay?" she asks, and it makes me wonder how long I spaced out.

Not that it's unusual.

"Yeah, let's go." I grab the paper bag with my folded new clothes, wonder briefly if I need shoes but decide I don't give a damn, and stride out of the shop. Enough for one day. I turn to keep the door open for Amber, who ambles out, giving me a brief, inquisitive look.

"Told you shopping isn't my thing," I say by way of explanation-and since when do I feel the need to explain myself? Fuck this.

"It's okay." She cuts into a narrow side street, a different one this time, her own bag with the silver dress dangling from one hand. "We'll get another bus. If that's okay with you."