Page 73 of Saving Ren
Gabe
“Which milk?”Lauren asks from the open fridge doorway in the supermarket.
“Babe, it’s milk.”
“Full fat? Semi-skimmed?”
“Babe, seriously, just grab some fucking milk.”
I don’t mean to snap, but I’m rapidly losing the will to fucking live right now. The trip to get Lauren a new phone was quick and painless. The hunt for new clothes, an outfit for our date next week, and now the grocery shop, not so much.
I only really stock up before Ava’s weekends. I know what she likes. I know what I like. I throw it in the trolley, go through the checkout, and I’m done in fifteen minutes tops.
Lauren reads the label on everything, checks the price per kilo, the cost per litre. We’ve been in here for at least nine-hundred and seventy-eight hours already, and we’re not even halfway around.
The clothes shopping was no better. Two-hundred and thirty shops. She tried on ninety-seven outfits for our date, bought nothing. Picked up a couple of pairs of jeans, a couple of tops, a pair of ankle boots, some bras and knickers, a couple of pairs of pyjamas, and bought the lot without trying on any of them. How does that work?
She gives me a look over the cartons of milk she’s holding up. It’s the same look she gave me when I told her she looked fine in one of the many, many, many outfits she tried on earlier. She could seriously rock up in a black plastic sack and look fucking gorgeous. I don’t care what she wears. As long as I get to take her out, give her a good time, and take her home at the end of the night, I don’t care about the rest of it.
“Full fat,” she declares without waiting for my answer and placing the milk in the trolley I’m pushing. The only upside of this trip is that I’ve walked behind her the whole way around the supermarket and have been able to watch her arse move in the leggings she’s wearing. Despite the exceptional view, I’d much rather be back at home, peeling her out of those leggings and picking up where we left off this morning than comparing the calorific content of different brands of cheese.
It feels like three days later when we finally get home, all of the shopping’s put away, and I’m able to crack open a beer and pour Lauren a glass of wine. It’s late afternoon, and I’m starving after leaving the house without eating breakfast this morning.
“You want something quick for a late lunch, or shall we just have an early dinner?” I call out to Lauren, who’s taken her bags to the bedroom. She appears back in the kitchen, grinning.
Seeing that smile on her face hits me in the chest. I’ve missed her like fuck while I’ve been away, and even though all I really want to do is wrap myself around her, I take a moment to just take her in. Even with all the shit she’s dealing with right now, she’s standing there smiling, looking cute, happy, and totally fuckable.
“Hark at you. You make us sound like an old married couple.” She also sounds very Essex.
I know she wasn’t comfortable walking around the shops. Even though you can barely see them now, she’s still paranoid about her bruises, as well as the clothes she’s wearing. I’m pretty certain when she said she didn’t want to stop for food because she wasn’t hungry, she was lying. And looking at her face all lit up right now, at something as simple as me asking her a question about lunch, I feel like a complete dick for complaining about the time she took trying things on and selecting groceries earlier. I can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel to have your world turned upside down like hers has. To have everything you own ripped away, and be left with literally nothing and left to rely on other people to help you out.
I let out a heavy sigh as I feel the weight of all what she’s going through hit me.
“C’mere,” I tell her.
Her hands go to her hips, and her smile falters a little.
“What?” she questions quietly with a shrug, her brows pulling down into a frown, eyes darting over my shoulder before landing back on mine.
“Get your arse over here.”
She moves to stand in front of me. At six-two, I’m not overly tall, but I feel it as I look down at Lauren. Her hands disappear inside the sleeves of her hoodie, and I watch as her fingers grip the cuffs.
“Did I do something?”
When my eyes meet hers again, it hits me how wide they are, and a wave of nausea churns my gut as I realise I’ve made her nervous. Reaching out, I wrap my arms around her back and pull her into me.
“Of course not. Far out, Ren. Don’t look at me like that. Seriously, don’t ever look at me like that.”
Moving my hands up to hold on to each side of her face, I tilt it up towards mine.
“I just wanted my mouth on yours. I’ve missed you, and you’re standing there in your UGGs, looking cute and smiley, and I just wanted to do this.”
I kiss her gently on the mouth, slide my hands around to cup her arse before moving my mouth to brush along her jaw, then kiss just below her ear. Pulling her against me, I move my mouth back to hers, but this time I’m all in. Mouth open, I push my tongue inside and tangle it with hers. Moving my hands to the backs of her thighs, I lift her and set her down on the benchtop and stand between her open legs.
Pulling my mouth from hers, I take in the flush of colour painting her cheeks, and her wide blue eyes.
“Babe, you need to listen when I say this. I’m not him. I would never, not ever, lay a hand on you. I’m not saying we’ll never blue because shit’ll happen. I’ll piss you off, you’ll piss me off, we’ll have words, maybe even shout and scream, but I will never, not ever, lay a hand on you. You get that?”
