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“I know you can handle her but I won’t have you dealing with my shit, Blaire.”
“Do you... do you need my help with anything?” I say, unaware that I'm pulling an evil face until Charlie tells me.
“There's nothing to worry about.” Reaching out he pinches my chin and then playfully slaps my cheek, setting off my desire to play fight with him.
He does this a lot when I come across worried, I've noticed over the months.
When we're done play fighting in the ring, I go back up to my room for a shower before relaxing in bed with a book. I don't go down for lunch because I know he's not here.
As I said, bar Charlie's odd behavior, the day starts out very normal. No. Perfect. I couldn't ask for anything more.
At half past four, it's time for dinner, and I'm itching to ask what's going on—I know something is—but I don't get a chance to go downstairs because Charlie strolls into my room with a fancy shopping bag in hand. He puts it on the foot of my bed and remains quiet in my presence, watching me.
“What's that?” I frown up at him, studying his clothes. He's dressed in well fitted jeans and a tailored royal blue shirt tucked in at the waist, the sleeves rolled up, revealing a big silver watch on his left wrist. His hair is pulled back, and I can smell he's wearing some sweet/musky cologne.
Charlie never wears cologne.
“A present,” he says, waving a hand at the bag—that's where he's been. Shopping. He smirks at me, his blue eyes flashing with amusement.
Leaning over, I put down my book on the bedside cabinet and sit up with crossed legs, my eyes thinning with wonder. “What's going on?”
“We're going out for dinner-”
My stomach knots as he says that.
“-I've bought you some nice clothes and shoes, so if you get dressed, we can leave.”
“Leave to go where?” I can feel the color draining from my cheeks as I think about the last time he said he wanted to take me to dinner. I'm staring at the bag now, dreading what's inside. If that's a dress, I'll kill him. No. I'll make him fucking wear it. “You're not going to make me dance, are you?”
Charlie throws his head back and bursts out laughing, though in a fond manner. “Not if you don't want to.”
Well, that's a relief, I think.
When he's done laughing, he rustles through the bag and pulls out a green strappy top, light blue jeans and a pair ofheels!
Worse than a dress.
“I am not wearing them,” I say before I realize, unsure of what face I'm pulling. Shock, probably.
“You're not wearing what?” he says, demurely pretending he cannot see my expression. Putting everything down on the bed, he comes around to me, his stride slow and confident. “The shoes?”
I focus on the shoes, one toppled over on the jeans. Nude and strappy. They're not very high but I've never in my life worn heels, and I'm not about to.
“What's wrong with my clothes?” I look up at him standing beside me, at his face glowing in shrewd hilarity.
“Well,” he crosses his arms, still smirking, and licks across his lips like he fancies something, “I'm a very big fan of your tight sports trousers, but where we're going, they're not the right attire.”
“So, where are we going?”
“It's a surprise.”
My heart is hammering in my chest, and my mouth is so dry that I'm surprised my voice comes out even when I say, “I'll wear the clothes, but I'm not wearing those shoes.” I don't really want to wear the clothes either but I'm used to the whole give and take thing that's between us now.
“All right then,” he says, shocking the hell out of me. “Get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs.” He saunters off, leaving me in a state of dumfound.
I expected him to put up more of a fight about the shoes. He obviously wants me to wear them, otherwise why would he have bought them?
I climb out of bed and pick up the clothes, twisting my face. They're so... girly. Where on earth is he taking me that requires me to wear shit like this?
