“I’ll dress, go to this store and be back in a minute.”
“Tor!” I repeated, my voice rising and I stomped to the bedroom doorway.
Tor had his back to me and was whipping off the towel. I saw his sculpted, fine ass and decided, what the fuck? He wanted to use Cora’s money? I’d let him.
Then I ran to the kitchen.
When Tor got back from the market, he brought with him eggs and a packet of bacon.
However, considering he carried three bags in each hand, I knew he bought much more.
“Jeez, did you buy everything in the store?” I asked as I followed him to the kitchen.
“This store is curious. Everything is wrapped. You cannot see the wares you’re buying except, in some cases, through little windows. How do you know all is as it should be?” he asked, pulling out a box of donuts then a bag of chips then out came a gargantuan candy bar.
“You just do,” I told him. “If it isn’t, it’s against the law, I think. False advertising or something.”
He turned his head to look at me.
“Curious,” he muttered, pulling out a stick of beef jerky.
Oh boy.
“I’m taking a shower,” I announced.
At my words, slowly, his head turned to me, his eyes unfocused and directed at my body, then they lifted to mine and he smiled.
It was wicked.
I ran to the bathroom and when I got there, I locked the door.
After breakfast (eggs, bacon, toast and donuts), I took Tor to the mall.
This was a bizarre experience.
I had figured it would be fascinating to him and he’d be looking around, wide-eyed and amazed.
But like everything else, he took it in stride and acted just like a man. He strolled through the corridors with his arm around my shoulders and followed me through the stores intent on one thing: getting his clothes and getting the fuck out of there.
I guessed Tor wasn’t into shopping.
He took wads of the other Cora’s cash with him and we bought him jeans, tees, shirts, underwear, socks, pajama bottoms, boots and running shoes. We also bought him a money clip, a comb, a brush and an electric razor (the last being the only thing he showed even the slightest bit of interest in).
We were loaded down with bags, him carrying the heavier ones, and headed back to the car when I noticed something strange.
People were staring at us.
If they were simply staring at Tor, I wouldn’t have been surprised. He was a big guy, he had a scar, not to mention, he was hot. But they weren’t just looking at him (well, some of the women were). They were looking at us.
I was trying to figure out why when Tor spoke.
“Your clothing yesterday, love, I must say, was not to my taste. But today, what you’re wearing…” I tipped my head to look up at him to see he was looking down at me. “Your hair,” he went on, “what you’ve done with your face. I like it.”
I quickly looked away.
I’d gone all out telling myself it was because I missed my stuff and anyway, we were going to my folks for dinner that night so I had to look nice. The truth of it was, I had planted myself firmly in denial to the fact that I’d dressed for Tor.
I was wearing a cute little lilac dress with a tiered, full skirt that hit me at the knees, a low, square neckline and cap sleeves, over it a thin, dusty blue cardigan and a pair of spike-heeled, very strappy purple sandals. I’d blown out my hair and put on light makeup.
Then he capped it by muttering, “You’re by far the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in this world.” My step stuttered, his arm tightened around my shoulders to steady me and he murmured, “All right?”
“Yes,” I lied.
But I was not.
We were at a mall and there were a number of hot babes there, including several who’d waited on him in stores, practically pushing each other out of the way, I might add, even with me standing right there. Not to mention the fact that he’d been out all day yesterday and clearly seen a number of people.
Knowing that, it was the nicest compliment anyone had ever given me.
Then he said, as if to himself, his eyes taking in the eyes of the other patrons taking us in, “This makes me wonder…” He trailed off and didn’t continue.
“What?” I asked.
“Mm?” he asked back.
“What makes you wonder?”
He squeezed my shoulders and said distractedly, “Nothing, my sweet.”
I watched his face and saw he looked as distracted as he sounded.
I let it go, we made it to the car, loaded it up and went to the grocery store.
Tor had far more interest in the grocery store and we perused every aisle, Tor picking up stuff, studying it, reading labels, turning it in his hands and tossing it into the cart if it held any interest to him at all.
I knew Tor liked his food. When we were at the castle, the meals were sumptuous, there was always dessert and his portions were manly.
But when our cart in the grocery store was filled to the point we needed another one, I felt the need to intervene.
“Tor, this is a lot of food.”
“Indeed,” he said, studying a bag of spiral pasta.
“We have no way of knowing how long you’re going to be in this world and it’ll take me a year to eat all of this,” I pointed out and his eyes sliced to me.
“If I go back, you’ll be coming with me,” he declared.
“We don’t know that,” I replied.
“If I go back, you’ll be coming with me,” he repeated, more firmly this time and with his face set hard.
I didn’t want to have an incident in the grocery store, which, by the set look on his face, I was pretty sure we would have if I told him that firstly, he couldn’t know that and secondly, I didn’t want to go back with him, not anymore.
So instead, I said, “Okay.”
He scowled at me then threw the pasta in the cart.
I rushed to get another one.
We loaded the car full to bursting with our grocery purchases and on the way home, my cell rang. The display said, “Noc.”
“Excellent, your gadget is sounding,” Tor noted.
“Not excellent, Tor!” I cried, holding it out to show him the display, thankful we were stopped at a red light. “It’s Noc!”
His eyes slid to the display then to me. “Noc?”
“The other you!” I exclaimed.
“Is it necessary for you to answer it?” he asked logically.
“Uh… no.”
“Then don’t answer it.”
Good advice.
It quit ringing but binged a few seconds later, telling me I had a voicemail.
I flipped it open in order to listen to the voicemail.
“What are you doing?” Tor asked, executing a perfect left hand turn.
“Listening to voicemail,” I told him.
