That was why the assholes did the things they did, wasn't it? To make up for the small sizes of their penises. Why else would you not take care of other humans?
"If you had one, it'd be bigger than all of ours put together," Leif said.
"Hell yeah it would." I didn't believe that for a moment, but maybe I could unleash my inner badass with big dick energy at some point.
She had to be in there somewhere, didn't she? After all, I was a survivor. That meant I was a badass already, didn't it?
Forrest pushed his chair back from the table and strode over with a thoughtful expression on his face.
Not for the first time I wondered what he saw in me. He was attractive, distinguished, intelligent. A man like him could have any woman he wanted without having to pay. Any of them could.
Yes, I was high profile to an extent, and I was relatively cute. Smart too. Okay, maybe I did deserve them. Maybe I deserved to have them care about me. I wasn't running away from them. Not that they'd let me. I suspected if I tried, they'd follow me, and keep on following me until I gave in to them.
Honestly, I had no desire to run away. They made me feel safe and wanted. I could get used to that.
"Leif," Forrest said, breaking through my thoughts. "See what you can find out. I'll talk to a couple of people I know. Woody?" He spoke over his shoulder.
Woody grunted. His way of saying, 'Yeah, what do you want?'
"I want you to take Sable shopping," Forrest said.
Woody's head jerked up. "What the fuck?"
"Shopping?" I echoed. "I don't need anything."
"I have something in mind and for it you're going to need a new dress," Forrest said simply, "You can take my black card if you need to." He started to reach for his wallet.
I held up my hand. "I have my own, but thank you. Did you have something in mind?"
I listened as he started to describe the perfect dress.
CHAPTER 8
SABLE
"I know you don't want to do this," I said to Woody as I worked my way through the rack of dresses.
Hopefully I'd find something here in Amalie's boutique. A tailor would take too long to make the dress Forrest described. The good ones were booked out months in advance, if not longer.
"Who says I don't?" Woody leaned against the window, his shoulder on the pane. His gaze slid up and down the street and around the store. Every muscle in his body was taut and ready.
"You don't strike me as the sort of person who enjoys dress shopping," I said. Or shopping of any kind, even online.
"Is this where you insult my wardrobe?" he asked, glancing down at himself. "I like to be comfortable." His dark jeans, fitted t-shirt, and leather jacket looked exactly that, but timeless at the same time. Very Woody.
"There's nothing wrong with your wardrobe," I said, sliding another dress along the rack for a better look. Pressing my lips together at the price on the swing tag. It was enough to feed a family of four for a year. I made a note to make another donation to a worthy charity. Or three.
"Damn right there isn't," Woody said. "I'll leave the expensive suits to Forrest and Leif."
"I bet you own a suit." I looked at him over the raw silk fabric. "I bet you look good in it too."
He leaned over and said, "I look even better out of it."
Goosebumps rose on my skin as his breath brushed the back of my neck.
"I've noticed."
Was he going to talk about what happened earlier this afternoon at some point? He got me off, then ran out of there like a dog with his tail between his legs. Gotten himself off in my shower. What was he so scared of?