CHAPTER Twelve
Two of the SUV’s followed us to the mall and two more were waiting for us when we got there. The minute I jumped out of the Range Rover, Nixon grabbed my hand and didn’t let go.
I wish I could say that I didn’t feel the warmth of his touch spreading all throughout my body. But I did. And it was amazing. He smiled as we made our way through the front doors, and I could almost imagine that this was normal. That we were just hanging out and shopping like two normal people.
Instead, we were being followed by a security detail that would irritate President Obama and stared at as if we were going to bomb the Food Court.
I hated to admit that I had no experience shopping. I wasn’t really sure what to do, but I didn’t want Nixon’s charity or anything. “Do they have a second hand store or something here?”
He looked horrified as if I just asked if there were any puppies to kick.
“Hell, no. Second hand store? Are you—” He cursed and shook his head. “Second hand? A freaking used clothing store?”
“Okay, you can stop repeating it already,” I snapped, trying to jerk my hand free from his vice-like grip.
“Girls like you don’t shop there.”
And there it was again. Girls like me. Girls who didn’t belong in Elite, who shouldn’t be salivating over their student body president. I felt my face heat and dropped my gaze to the ground. “Um, what about a Ross? Or Wal-Mart or something?” I was so embarrassed I couldn’t even look at him.
He stopped walking, making me almost trip as he released my hand and cupped my chin. “Trace, did you not hear anything I just said?”
Tears blurred my vision. See, that was the problem. I heard everything, and I was so tired of being told I wasn’t good enough! So exhausted pretending to be something I wasn’t when I had only been at their damn school for less than a week.
I tried to pull free.
Of course Nixon wouldn’t have any of that.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around my body and sighed into my hair, kissing my head. “You are… impossible.”
I didn’t really know what to say to that.
“Mason, don’t follow so close, alright?” Nixon said over my head to one of the security guys.
“Of course, sir.”
“Sir?” I repeated, though it was muffled from his muscled chest. He pulled back and again grabbed my hand.
“It’s a respect thing.”
“You're like twenty,” I pointed out, glad that we weren’t focusing on me and my short-comings anymore.
Nixon’s face tensed, then his face flashed with humor. “Right, twenty.” He looked away and mumbled, “Age doesn’t really matter in my world.”
“Your world?”
He didn’t look at me. He seemed to be on a mission. And then we stopped walking. Well, he stopped walking. I would have kept going, because there was no way I was going into that store.
“Prada?” I said aloud. “Are you insane?”
He smirked and pulled me toward the store.
I dug my heels into the ground, or at least I tried. But who I was kidding? Nixon was a god among men, he simply pulled my arm and I followed him into the beautifully-lit store. It was like my eyes couldn’t absorb everything I was seeing around me. So many purses and bags and colors and… A girl could die happy this way.
“May I help you?” A skinny woman in a black suit smiled in our direction. Her gaze lingered longer on Nixon than should be proper, considering he was still in college. Though to be fair, he didn’t look it. I stole another look out of the corner of my eye. Seriously, was he eighteen? He looked so much older, more mature.
“Messenger bags, do you guys carry messenger bags?” Nixon asked this as his eyes took in the walls of the brightly-lit store. “Something classy.”
The woman beamed. “Right this way.”
Within a few minutes I had five different types of bags displayed in front of me. One was a men’s leather bag which was kinda cute. The others were nylon which I guess was fine. I mean, it was Prada.
My fingers itched to check the price tags. Honestly, I didn’t even want to touch them, I mean what if the oil and germs from my hand somehow went onto the bag and—
“Trace, pick a bag.” Nixon urged me forward almost forcing me to touch the pretty objects. I reached down and then for some reason, probably my nervousness, I looked to the right. Near the counter on a display was a beautiful royal blue bag. I probably should have looked away, but I couldn’t.
My eyes widened just slightly. I cleared my throat and looked back at the bags in front of me.
I felt rather than saw Nixon walk away. Shivers ran up and down my arms at his absence.
“This one.” Nixon returned and handed the blue bag to the woman.
I didn’t want to look at her, but I couldn’t help it. Her face was impassive, but I could see a muscle twitch in her jaw. “This is a special edition—”
“For a special girl.” Nixon put an arm around me. “Then it’s perfect.”
Shaking her head, the woman walked to the counter and rang up the purchase. “That will be one-thousand seventy-five dollars and eighty-nine cents.”
I coughed. I swear it was involuntary. Was Nixon insane? All of this? For a bag? I opened my mouth to say something, but he very purposefully elbowed me while he took out his wallet and flashed her a black credit card.
The minute he handed it over she checked the name. “Can I see some ID, Mr. —”
The card dropped out of her hands. Shaking, she licked her lips and shook her head. “Nevermind.”
“What?” Nixon leaned forward. “You don’t need my ID?”
“No, Mr. Abandonato, th-this-this will be fine.” With trembling fingers she handed over the receipt and the bag. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Nixon flashed a smile. “No, I think we’ve had enough. Thank you for your… help.”
Good God, the woman was going to pass out. She nodded and pinched the bridge of her nose as we turned around and walked out.
“What the hell, Nixon? You like the godfather or something?” I laughed nervously. He joined in but his laugh was hollow.
“So, frozen yogurt?”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Because I’m hungry?”
I sighed. “Fine, but this isn’t a date and this isn’t babysitting detail. You know I can take care of myself, right? You can just take me back to the dorms. I’ve got a paper to write anyways and…” My voice trailed off the minute his hand touched mine. Confused, I looked down at our grasped hands. I didn’t even realize we had stepped onto an escalator until we hit the top floor. He didn’t release my hand. I was torn between wanting him to release it and wanting to smack him upside the head. He couldn’t just toy with my emotions like that. Make me feel important for no reason other than his own entertainment. Growing angrier by the second, I tried to pry my hand free, but his grip tightened.
“It isn’t safe, Trace,” he said in hushed tones. “Just trust me, okay?”
“Then why are we getting frozen yogurt?”
At that he smiled, but still refused to answer. I called false to his whole I’m hungry statement. Right, he’s hungry. He wasn’t the one going on a no-cow diet for the past week.
The food court was decent. Not many people were scattered around either, which I was thankful for. Our security detail basically circled us as we went into the small frozen yogurt shop and grabbed our cups.
“Okay, what do I do?” I held the cup in my hand and stared at him.
“Uh…” Nixon scratched his head. “You eat it?”
“The cup?”
“No, not the cup.” Nixon barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding right? You’ve never had self-serve?”
I swallowed and looked down feeling all kinds of stupid. “Look, just forget it.” I tried to shove the cup back in his hand, but instead he grabbed my wrist and flipped me around to face a giant contraption on the wall.
I could swear this guy’s body heat could start a fire if he so desired. “Read the flavors…” he ordered.
“Out loud?” I snapped.
“Hmm, I think I may like that.”
Okay, he was standing way too close to me. I could practically taste the minty gum he was chewing. Focus, Trace. Focus. I was just a plaything. Oh great, I was what rich boys resorted to when they were bored. Well, at least he hadn’t called me Farm Girl for a while. “New York Cheesecake, Blueberry, Chocolate Chip, Vanilla, Chocolate, Cake Batter…”
“Why do they sound better coming from your lips, do you think?” Nixon whispered in my ear.
Holy hell, I couldn’t feel my legs. The guy had me absolutely paralyzed.
“Want a sample?” He moved from behind me and grabbed a small pink spoon. Pink looked good on him, less scary, but not less hot. Unfortunately…
I briefly closed my eyes and imagined him in a Barbie minivan hoping to expel the way his masculinity made me want to strip down to nothing and throw caution to the wind.
“Open.” I opened my eyes and my mouth, since I really didn’t have a say in the matter. But then again, it was Nixon. I wasn’t given a vote. Ever. The frozen yogurt was cold and creamy against my tongue. “You like?”
Oh such an open-ended question. His eyes hooded as he dipped his head closer to mine, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his plump lips as they descended. His warm mouth was suddenly on mine and then like the little tease he was, it was gone.
“Sorry, I thought I saw some frozen yogurt, my mistake.” He laughed and backed away.
Ass. “Liar,” I said, breathlessly pushing past him. “So what, do I just pull on one of these thingies?”
“Well, I prefer the word stroke but—”
My face erupted into flames. I jerked my head away and managed to shakily add some frozen yogurt in the cup. I didn’t even look to see what flavor it was. I just knew I had to get the hell out of there before I allowed Nixon to get any closer.
The guy had already threatened to destroy me.
He proved he could do it.
So he was suffering from temporary insanity and being nice, all because of my necklace? Or was it because of what happened at school?
Lost in thought, I started putting toppings on my frozen yogurt.
“Wow, didn’t take you for the gummy worm type of girl.”
“Huh?”
Nixon pointed to the cup in my hand where I had somehow stacked five gummy worms on my yogurt. “Uh, yeah, I love… worms.” Classic. Someone should record the gold that flows from my mouth.
Nixon licked his lips. I could see the ghost of a smile dancing across them. This was the most I’d seen him smile… in forever. I both liked it and hated it. On one hand it nearly killed me every time he directed a smile in my direction, because I knew it wasn’t just fleeting but fake. Nixon wasn’t the type that offered something without taking something in return, and I knew my payback was coming up.
“Ready?” the bored teenager at the till asked.
“Yup.” I handed him my cup, he placed it on a scale and then placed Nixon’s on the scale. “Twelve dollars and nineteen cents.”
For yogurt?
I kept my mouth shut while Nixon handed over his card.
The kid glanced at the card and then did a double-take. His mouth dropped open and then he snapped it closed. At least he wasn’t shaking like the last cashier. With a quick swipe he handed back the card and the receipt.
We started to walk out, but he spoke up. “Um, I know this sounds really dumb, but can I have your autograph?”
Nixon froze. His nostrils flared as he looked at me and then handed me his frozen yogurt. I watched his right hand clench and unclench as he walked up to the kid. Holy crap he was going to punch him in the face.
“Sure thing…” He bent over the counter and signed a napkin the kid had handed to him. “What’s your name?”
“John.” The guy looked like he just met Brad Pitt.
Nixon scribbled something and then handed the napkin back to John. “We have an understanding, John? Nobody knows we were here?”
John’s eyes widened and then Nixon leaned over the counter. “I need to hear you say it, John.”
“You weren’t here.” John stumbled over his words. “I swear.”
“And where did you see us?”
“On the street. You, uh, you were going for a run.”
“I do like running.” Nixon lightly smacked the kids shoulder and winked. “Thanks again, John.”
“N-no problem, Mr. Abandonato.”
I frowned the rest of the way to the car.