Page 53 of Hopeless
I slide an arm around Bailey’s rigid figure and lean down over her again. She curls into my body the same way she did the other night, like she can hide behind me.
Like she feels safe with me.
I rub her back as I whisper against her ear, “You’re walking in here with me. That was the deal, yeah? Let’s give them something to talk about, sugar tits.”
She snorts a totally unladylike laugh, head tilting in toward my chest, her long hair falling over her beautiful face. Hiding herself when she shouldn’t.
I tug her against my side and drape a possessive arm over her shoulder, pressing her tiny frame next to mine.
She stiffens as we walk, rigid as a plank of wood.
“Relax, Bailey,” I whisper, turning us to face a wall of shoes.
“Iamrelaxed,” she bites back, staring right through the shoe display like she’s somewhere else entirely.
“You look like I kidnapped you and forced you to go shoe shopping with me. This was your idea. Sell it.”
Her eyebrows drop, eyes narrowing as she shoots me a dirty little scowl. Then she turns her face back to the wall of shoes and slides her hand into my back pocket.
My body pauses only for a beat as surprise flashes across my face. That’s not what I was expecting, but I’m not mad at it either.
“Hi!” The bright voice makes me flinch. It’s how everyone talks to me now. Too fake. Too upbeat. “What a treat to have Beau Eaton in the store today with—”
I turn to face the girl with bright blonde hair styled into loose waves. She’s pretty, but not beautiful like Bailey.
“BaileyJansen?” The girl is so incredulous I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep my lips from twitching.
It’s a struggle, so I turn, drop my lips to the crown of Bailey’s head as I squeeze her firmly against me. “Future Mrs. Bailey Eaton,” I correct, dragging her hand up over my hip bone.
Bailey’s fingers splay over my belt, massive rock on display.
Way too fucking close to the zipper of my jeans.
The girl blinks for a comically long time. Her mouth opens and closes like she’s trying to find the words, but nothing feels right.
Bailey’s other hand moves, skimming up my back—almost like she’s hugging me—until her fingers fist in my shirt. There’s something desperate about the motion.
I reassure her by sliding my hand under the curtain of her hair, propping it on her neck, right where it meets her shoulder. “Do you know my Bailey?”
That comment has my girl’s head whipping up to face me, but the salesgirl cuts our eye contact short. She laughs.Laughs. Right to my fucking face. “Yeah, I mean, everyone knows Bailey.”
I feign ignorance and smile down at Bailey. The woman with pinched eyes and flattened lips who is gazing up at me with aget me out of hereexpression on her face.
“Well, anyone who is a friend of Bailey’s is a friend of mine.” I grin at the other girl, but she’s too stupid to tell it’s not a friendly grin. “Maybe you can help us with some shoes?”
She looks confused but replies with a bright, “Of course!” all the same.
I glance at her name tag and decide on the spot that I hate Lily. But I play the long game. So, I offer her a bland smile before I turn away and march Bailey up and down the length of the store, assessing my options. It doesn’t take me long to realize that I don’t give a fuck about my shoes as long as they don’t chafe.
When I get bored with staring at the sea of footwear, I whisper, “Sugar, put your hand back in my pocket.”
Bailey doesn’t even move her eyes my way when she says, “Why? I think she’s buying it just fine.”
My lips dust over the shell of her ear. “I don’t give a fuck about her. I just like it.”
Bailey’s hip bumps against mine, a silent reprimand for what she thinks is a joke.
But I’m not joking. I take her hand and shove it back into my pocket, smirking at the snarky look she shoots me. Even the vicious little revenge pinch she gives my ass before carrying on makes me smile.
