Page 71 of Rebellious

She waves me off. “I’m not wearing the shorts.” Digging around, she finds a pair of sweats I keep just in case the weather is cooler. “You haven’t worn these, have you?”

I shake my head and keep my eyes on the road when she shimmies low in the seat, and slips my sweats over her hips. “Okay,” she announces when she’s finished. “Now we can go to the grocery store.”

“Aspen.” I sigh.

“Bennett.”

Why must she be so stubborn?

She points to the only open store. “There.”

I change lanes, intending to pull into the store. “We can eat fast food,” I negotiate. “You can get your greasy food. I promise, I’ll be fine.”

She waves me off, already settled in her decision, which doesn’t come as a surprise. “Even the salads have a bunch of hidden carbs and sugar at those restaurants. We aren’t eating there.”

My chest aches. Aspen loves her sugar and carbs, but when I was diagnosed and had to change my entire lifestyle, she was the one who threw out all the boxed meals and empty calories.

I’m sure she sneaks and gets her fix of sugar, but I’ve always appreciated her support. Over time, I’ve learned to balance where I’ve been able to indulge, like today. I can have a couple of beers, but if I have more, I’ll need more insulin, and I try to limit that as much as possible.

Turning into the parking lot, I pick a space closest to the door. The store isn’t busy but still. I’d prefer not to be too far away.

“I’ve already started a list,” she tells me, holding up her phone for me to see.

“Of course you have.” I groan. This won’t be a quick trip.

“Let’s go before I starve to death.” She opens the door and hops out, immediately doubling over.

“What’s wrong?” I rush around the front of the car and find the reason she’s hunched over.

“Do you see this?” She wheezes.

Deep breath, Bennett. You’re used to this insanity.

I glance down at my sweatpants pooled at her ankles. “I see,” I tell her tersely.

She’s still laughing, making no move to pull them up. “Literally, I got out, and they dropped to the ground.”

My jaw goes tight. “Hence the reason you should have worn your own pants.”

I knew this was a bad idea. Playful Aspen is always a bad idea. I sigh and rub at the tightness in the back of my neck. “Come on, Asp. Pull them up.”

The laughing immediately stops, and she stands up straighter. “You do it.”

Heaven help me, she’s going to kill me before the summer ends.

“No, we did enough today.”

She shrugs. “Fine, I’ll just take them off and wear my shorts.”

“The hell you will.” I didn’t realize I’d taken a step forward, crowding her. Any other woman would have backed away, but not Aspen. She pushes her chest into mine. “Then you best pull them up for me, BJ.”

Sometimes arguing with her is worth it. In times like these, with shorts that cut nearly to her hip bone, and no way of preventing her from going into the store, there’s no point. Arguing with her is futile. She knows she has me.

“Fine.” I basically growl, squatting down and grasping the waist of the pants.

“Don’t yank them,” she says. “My skin feels a little raw from the sun and sand.”

She is full of shit. I know the game she’s playing right now and dammit, it’s working.

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