Page 11 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“I don’t,” I grunt. I’ve never been bothered about clothes. The band’s stylist buys me three new pairs of jeans and ten plain t-shirts in a variety of different shades every year and that does me. I have no idea how much they cost and it’s never bothered me before. Not until now and those scuffed sneakers. I haven’t had to worry about money in a long time.
“You have a stylist?” she asks and I nod. “Wow, I’d love someone to pick out my clothes for me. I’m sort of hopeless at it.” I glance down at her body, thinking her outfit looks pretty damn good to me despite the faded fabric.
I swallow away that thought and drag my eyes back to the sidewalk. Although, eyeing up my so-called girlfriend with appreciation would probably be the right, believable thing to do, right?
But pretty sleazy when the girlfriend is fake.
It’s a Tuesday and the sidewalk is almost empty. Kim made us come early before all the tourists rock up. She didn’t want us swamped. But there are still a few people milling about. Some appear to be serious shoppers, their shades down, stride determined. Some must be shop workers. They’re peering at their phones as they hurry along. And then there are one or two tourists that have arrived early, their LA baseball caps a giveaway perched on their heads.
One woman with a cartoon character grinning on the front of her dress catches my eye and I watch in horror as that look of recognition dawns over her face. She nudges the man next to her and quickens her pace.
“Come on,” I tell Isabella, gripping her palm tighter and pulling her into the first shop to our right. I can’t take those encounters. Strangers squealing at me, wanting selfies and autographs. Touching me. Fucking sniffing me.
The shop door chimes as we bundle through, then slams behind us.
I sigh in relief. Then peer down at Isabella. Her eyes are wide in horror as she takes in the shop. Immediately, I do the same.
Fuck!
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I’ve only gone and dragged my fake girlfriend into a lingerie shop. And not any lingerie shop. The kinky kind. The entire front display of bras and corsets is made of leather. There’s a whip and some handcuffs hanging from the ceiling, and the mannequin standing to my right is wearing nipple tassles.
I’m about to spin around and yank the omega straight out of this shop, deciding the fan outside is the lesser of two evils, when the shop assistant spots us and makes a beeline our way.
She has her manicured hand wrapped tightly around Isabella’s wrist before I can make a move.
“Hello there.” Her eyes land on mine and twinkle in the way I recognize instantly. She knows who I am and thinks I’m an easy way to earn her month’s bonus. “Come in, come in. Don’t be shy.”
She hooks her arm through Isabella’s and pulls her away from me. The omega peers over her shoulder, giving me a shocked expression and I’m forced to trot along after them like a scorned dog.
“Actually, we have the wrong shop,” I growl, trying to recapture Isabella’s hand.
The shop assistant whips around to face me. She has short pink hair styled into a quiff and a ring pierced through her nose. Her eyes are ringed in heavy electric-blue eyeliner. She flashes me a smile.
“Are you kidding me? This is exactly the right shop. Every woman wants to be treated to expensive underwear.” She turns to Isabella and winks. “Right?”
Isabella’s mouth falls open and I hope in God’s name she knows I didn’t intend to drag her in here.
“Now let me see.” The shop assistant taps her fingers against her mouth. “I’m guessing you’re a size 10 on the bottom and we’re probably looking at a size 36DD on the bra.”
Isabella’s mouth falls even further open. “How did you know–”
“It’s my job, darling.” She turns back to me and winks. “Lucky man.”
And fuck, I wish. A 36DD. Shit! Hiding somewhere beneath that endless fabric of t-shirt.
“You want to try on some of the leather stuff? It’s incredibly popular right now.”
“Ew no!” Isabella gasps. “It looks really uncomfortable.”
I glance that way. She’s right. And yet…
“Looks great, though,” the shop assistant purrs. “You prefer something lacy?”
“I’m not sure–”
But Isabella doesn’t finish her words because the shop assistant is dragging her further into the store, yanking things off racks and shelves and thrusting them in my direction. Soon my arms are full of thrills and lace and ribbons.
