“Don’t you think?” she asks.
Now I’m done for. I haven’t heard a fucking thing she’s said while we’ve walked the length of the mall, hand-in-hand. An odd word here or there, but not enough cohesively to know what she’s asked me about.
“I’ll take your word on it,” I reply, and hold my breath.
She nods, with that crease in her brow, and I let my lungs empty. That was too close. I’m well aware I shouldn’t be so wrapped up in her, but damn, it quiets my mind.
My phone burns in my pocket, demanding I answer the latest message from this morning. Yet I can’t. Not yet.
I’m still in shock. Seventeen years, and now he wants to talk.
“Can we duck in here before we go?” Jane tugs my hand.
I follow her into a woman’s clothing store, and I swear to God I want to cry. Why? Why would she do this to me? I’m a guy, for fuck’s sake; we don’t do dresses, and shit.
Her face lights up when she reads my poorly-hidden apprehension.
“Come on. I only want to try one thing on.” She beelines for a blue and grey dress. “I’ve seen this so many times in the same shop at the mall I used to go to.”
She doesn’t need to say it—I know. He’d never let her entertain the idea of buying something nice for herself.
Jane darts through to the changing rooms, and gestures for me to sit on the single stacker-chair by the entrance. I do as I’m told. Good little puppy. A few minutes later, and two visits to her cubicle from the attendant, a whistle snaps my head around.
“Malice,” she whispers in a harsh tone. Her arm waves wildly from behind the curtain. “Come look.”
“Can I go in there?”
“Of course.” I turn to take in the assistant who has magically re-appeared over my shoulder. “Wait here,” she instructs.
I watch the svelte blonde make her way to Jane’s curtain, and poke her head in. A second later, she rips the curtain wide, and leads Jane out to turn before the full-length mirror at the end of the change area.
I swear these fucking legs worked a second ago.
“What do you think?” Jane asks.
My jaw drops and some odd croak comes out. Not exactly the word I had in my head.
The assistant claps. “I think he likes it.”
Jane twists her hips from side to side, checking out all angles. The dress fits her like a glove—like literally, as tight as a glove. It hugs her hips, and pushes her breasts up a little. The bottom falls short of mid-thigh, tight as hell, and showing her toned legs.
Damn.
She looks fucking phenomenal.
“I don’t think I could ever wear it out, though.” And like that, shy Jane is back.
“Why not?” Now my voice works. Typical.
“It’s kind of dressy for everyday.”
“Then wear it out to a bar, or something.”
She looks at me, and blinks. “When would I go to a bar?”
“Tonight.” How’s that for spontaneity?
“Tonight?” Her eyes grow wide.
“Yeah, tonight. Do you have somewhere else to be?” I narrow my gaze on her.
She looks at the assistant, who’s grinning like the Cheshire cat, and back to me. “I think you know the answer to that.”
Today suddenly got a hell of a lot better.
“Go find three others,” I say, and point out into the store.
“Oh, I don’t know. I can’t really—”
“Do it, Jane,” I order. “I can guarantee you’ll be begging me to go back next weekend, and I know how you women get about wearing the same thing twice.”
“I like this guy,” the assistant says, thumbing in my direction.
Jane opens her mouth, and I know she’s going to spout some shit about not enough money. “My shout,” I cut her off.
The death-stare she levels me with tells me I’m in for a storm later, but fuck it—who doesn’t enjoy a rough ride?
I PASS my bags of shopping over to Malice, and smile. “Thanks for this.”
“Hey, I’m just proud of you for doing it. Take all the time you need.” He leans forward, and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be over in the food court somewhere, playing with your new phone.”
I sigh, and nod. I can do this.
“Here goes nothing,” I say with a flourish, and turn for the coffee shop.
I spot my mom near the back, sitting by herself in a small booth. A glance over my shoulder confirms that Malice has left for the food court. The sight of him with my bags brings a smile to my lips.
Mom lifts her head as I approach, and the same compassionate smile I saw as a kid graces her mouth. “Sweetheart.”
“Mom.”
She stands, seemingly undecided if it’s appropriate to hug, or offer a more formal greeting. I can’t shake the fact that the time apart put a damper on our relationship. As much as the lost time saddens me, I’m not at the stage where I can freely show her affection just yet.