Page 44 of Havik: Warlord Brides
“Is there a reason a drone is waiting for my signature?” Ren asked as the ramp lowered from the cargo hold.
Cooler air immediately flooded in. Ren shivered. Havik zipped up his jacket. Thalia sighed in relief.
“I ordered some items and charged them to the ship’s account,” she said.
“My account,” Ren replied.
“For the ship.” She would have paid for them herself if she had the money, but she kept her laughable financial status to herself. What remained of the allowance that the Mahdfel gave her would be enough for some new clothes. Or new-to-her clothes. Hopefully, the station had a secondhand shop.
Ren opened the package and held up a bottle of foaming soap. “We have soap.”
“The soap you have is caustic and makes me itchy.” She scratched her arm to drive home the point.
Ren opened his mouth but Havik interrupted with, “Terran skin is different from ours. We should have anticipated the female’s needs.”
Ren huffed as he pawed through the box. If he had a problem with the groceries she ordered, he kept it to himself. “You are correct. I will unpack these. I like this flavor. Very fishy.” He held up a tube of what she had thought was regular sausage.
“Yay. Fishy,” she muttered, not a fan of fish. At least someone would eat the fish sausage.
Thalia exaggeratedly cocked her hip and scanned the dock. Not that she was an experienced intergalactic traveler, but the difference between this station and the previous one at Sangrin was huge. The Sangrin station had been huge and bustling. People moved with purpose. The public announcement system crackled with constant noise and updates. Money and goods flowed through the station.
Here, not so much. Only two other ships shared the docking bay. Silence filled the space, and the dingy interior spoke to neglect and lack of funds for basic maintenance. The station had seen better days. This was the kind of place you stopped at only because you had to, and no one stayed for long.
Her kind of place.
At the bottom of the ramp, Havik gripped her arm, snagging her attention. “Do not try your tricks here. I am watching you. Do not embarrass me,” he warned.
Embarrass him?
Instantly, she blushed, like she had been caught in the wrong, but that did not last long. She didn’t appreciate the reappearance of her stern and grumpy alien, talking down to her like a child. On the ship, she almost thought he liked her and cared, just a little bit.
The way he watched her with contempt made her skin crawl.
It hurt.
Thalia jerked out of his grip. “You wanna put a collar on me and make sure I behave myself?” she snarked. A minute ago, she would have teased him, but she didn’t want toembarrassthe giant red asshole by being a common little thief.
“I will escort you. That will be enough.”
“Fine.” She zipped up her hoodie, chafing at the idea of being babysat by Danger B. It was like he expected her to plan some heist and she wanted to do just that out of spite. “I’m out of my element here, so you tagging along is helpful,” she admitted, because she was a grown-ass woman who could admit to needing help. “Is there a map or a list of shops?”
“What do you require?”
Thalia rattled off her shopping list, particularly enjoying the way Havik’s cheeks darkened when she mentioned underwear. “A girl needs more than three pairs of panties.”
“I understand,” he said.
“And not just for variety, but variety is nice. The elastic wears out.”
“Say no more,” he said weakly, following her as she navigated through the station to a store that seemed promising.
“And color. I like color. Beige is so boring, but it does go with everything. I like pink. But no thongs. Some people think they’re sexy, but I don’t like my ass hanging out. I do like boy-cut shorts, though. I think they frame my assets, so to speak, perfectly. What do you think?”
“Please. Stop.”
Teasing Havik should have been fun, but he had spoiled the mood and she found herself resentful. She did her best to school her expression and keep up the appearance of cold indifference, because screw him for making her feel like scum and expecting the worst of her.
And the only pockets she’d picked were his.
