Page 44 of Meet Hate Love
“I’m a realist.”
I rounded the shelving, glancing from ankle supports to medical tape to condoms. Why were condoms beside ankle supports?
The masculine scent of Vance’s cologne wrapped around me when he reached over my shoulder for a box of Magnum-sized condoms.
My pulse sped up. Why did he think he needed those? Oh, crap. Because of what I’d said last night! “What are you doing?” I asked, pretty sure there was a slight tremor in my voice.
“Looking at condoms.”
“Why?”
He glanced up from the box. “Why not?”
Heat bled over my face. It was just a box of prophylactics but seeing him hold said box made me anxious.
“Does the whole ‘ribbed for her pleasure’ thing actually work?”
“No. I don’t know. I mean, I guess some women like it. Added stimulation or something.”Like a dick ring. I felt my face heat at that internal whisper. “I don’t want to talk about that with you.” I moved down the aisle, searching for the Band-Aids.
The only thing I found was something aptly named Avo-Cato bandages—a box of bright-green, avocado-shaped bandages with a smiling cat face in the center. Desperate to get away from Vance and the prophylactics, I snatched them from the hook, then headed to the front of the store.
The lady behind the register smiled when I placed my item on the counter. Then she said something in French. I stood there, staring at her like I was an imbecile, until Vance stepped up beside me and rattled off an answer. Hearing French roll off his tongue in that deep, gravelly voice of his did things. He could have honestly said he’d murdered seventeen women and stuffed their bodies into a woodchipper, and it wouldn’t have mattered. My thighs would have still clenched.
The box of condoms dropped to the counter. My gaze shifted from the extra-large rubbers to him. Was he serious? He was buying them? Was that some veiled threat? His way of telling me, “I remember what you said last night, and I dare you.”
My stomach flip-flopped with the idea of his pinning me underneath his large frame while he drove into me.
“Your cheeks are red.” He grinned like the arrogant asshole he was before he pulled his wallet from his pocket. “Why are your cheeks red, Blake?”
Because I’d just imagined impaling myself on his dick. My attention flicked down to the box.
He took his receipt and shoved it into his pocket before leaning down by my ear. “Thought I might need them in case you aren’t drunk when you try to fuck me.”
Kill me now.
Smirking his most bastard of a smirk, he took the bag from the counter, then turned for the door. I watched him walk out, my heart pounding in my chest. He’d just bought condoms and basically said, the better to fuck you with, my dear, like some sort of sexy Big Bad Wolf.
What the hell was I supposed to do? I pulled my phone from my pocket, typed out a text to Margot asking for help, and then promptly deleted it. She was not the person to ask for advice if I didn’t want to fuck him.
Swiping a hand over my face, I headed toward thepharmacieexit. My attention drifted through the shop window to Vance. The bastard looked like a guy someone would slap on the cover of a romance book. Tall. Ripped. Angular features. Blazing eyes that could peer into a woman’s soul and pluck out every sordid desire. And those lips… I wanted to believe I was strong enough to hold my ground, but who was I kidding? I wasn’t. Trying not to screw him would be akin to trying not to stare when I drove past a terrible wreck. I knew I shouldn’t look; I knew it would traumatize me; I knew it was wrong, but no matter how hard I tried, at the very last second, I’d look. Terrible decisions were ingrained in my personality, and since a leopard never changes his spots…
“Shit,” I breathed, pushing open the door and stepping onto the sidewalk beside Mr. Fuckable just as he pulled the bandages from the bag.
He stared blankly at the bright-green box. “What the fuck are these?”
“They were the only ones they had.”
“I am not sticking these—” he shook the box in his hand, and the bandages rattled around inside—“on my forehead.”
I took the package from him, tore it open, and took out a bandage. “Okay,” I said, peeling the paper away from the ridiculous-looking sticker. “I will then.” Then I slapped the Avo-Cato bandage on his forehead.
“You did not just do that.”
“You let me…”
He turned to thepharmaciewindow, checking his reflection with a furrowed brow. “Absolutely not.” When he went to pull off the colorful bandage, I slapped his hand away.
“Leave it alone.”
