Into You Series: The Complete Collection

8. Ian

CHAPTER 8

IAN

Present day

I t’s been nine years since I met Nia Smith. Nine years of admiring from afar, keeping my distance because, as the in-house lawyer, I knew better than to pursue her. Nine years, and I’m finally not working for Treasuries Inc.

I go down to the lobby, taking in deep breaths, and step out to see Nia already waiting for me.

“Ready for a day of fun?” I ask.

“No funny business,” she says sharply. “We buy what we need, and we come back.”

“Nooo.” I exaggerate the word. “The entire point is for us to get along. Did you not hear the bride?”

She walks off, not acknowledging me. I’ll admit, I feel bad. I don’t mean to make her uncomfortable. I didn’t even think my comment was all that offensive.

I follow her, pulling out my phone to preemptively request a ride.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask. She shakes her head with pursed lips. “I saw some local place with a giant shark statue out front. Could be cool.”

“Whatever you want to do.”

The sentence makes my heart jump, but I keep myself composed for the time being, though it’s hard with her skirt flowing behind her. The wind is doing me favors because I see a slight peek of her black thong when the thin material pushes against her backside. Thank you, Florida breeze.

The rideshare service arrives and takes us down the street. Nia looks out the window the entire time. I can’t help but chuckle at her determination to have a horrible time.

The shark statue outside the souvenir shop is much bigger than I anticipated. I ask that she take my picture with it then stick my arm in the statue’s mouth and cringe, pretending the shark is biting me.

“Is that your new dating profile pic?” she asks, handing me my phone back.

“Nah, I don’t do dating apps,” I say. “Do you want a picture too? Maybe spruce up your profile?” I ask, hoping she says something to contradict the idea that she’s active with other men.

“I’m not on the apps anymore,” she says. Score.

“Why not?” I ask, trying to stay nonchalant. I see a small smile tug at the edge of her mouth, and my heart leaps. “Do you have a dirty little secret?”

Her smirk instantly disappears. “Let’s just say I’m a bit tired of stupid men.”

“Good thing I’m smart.”

I wink and she pushes past me into the shop.

We browse through, and while I’m having no luck with my bachelor party shopping, Nia is zooming through Ramona’s list, picking up items whose relevance to a bachelorette outing I can’t even imagine. We walk down another aisle where she picks up a wiggling hula girl and places it in her basket.

“What the hell does Ray have planned?” I ask.

“I honestly don’t want to know,” Nia says, exhaling.

I smile, looking at the rest of the aisle. There are bobblehead dogs in floral button-ups, a variety of seashells, and at the end, displayed across the entire wall, samples of airbrushed designs.

“We have to get one of these,” I say, walking up to the counter and flipping through the binder with sleeves of design pictures: stick figures in bikinis, stylized animals of every variety, surfboards, skateboards, boogie boards—you name it, they have your board of choice.

“That’s silly,” Nia says. “Those shirts are a total waste of money. You wear them during the trip then they never see the light of day again.”

“Yes, but did you even go to Florida if you didn’t get a tacky airbrushed shirt?” I say with a grin. She seems less than amused.

“I’m not wasting cash on that.”

“Oh well, I guess I’ll just buy yours then.” I shrug, flipping through the book again.

The man at the counter approaches, splaying out both hands. “Whatcha lookin’ for?” he asks, his accent thick and gritty.

“We’ll have the two girls in a bikini,” I say. “One with a yellow top and the other in pink. Short black hair on one, long blonde on the other. What size do you wear, Nia? Small?” I turn to look at her, scanning up and down. Her arms are crossed with one leg stuck out and the weight in her hips fully distributed to the other side. Yet, with all of that, she actually has a hint of a smile on her face.

“You’re putting yourself in a bikini?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Only fair since you’re in one,” I respond, raising mine in response.

She waits a moment then exhales. “I wear a small.”

My chest rises at the satisfaction. I crave more of that—the participation, the secret enjoyment tugging at her lips.

“You heard the lady.” I slam my hand down on the counter then point my other index finger at her and squint. “You’re having fun, Nia.”

“I am not,” she insists, turning on her heel to walk back down the aisle. With every swing of her hips, I’m convinced each movement contains a little less contempt for me. And, maybe I’m dreaming, but is she showing off her backside on purpose?

Twenty minutes later we receive our shirts and they are everything I had hoped for. Our names are scrawled across the top in gaudy airbrushed cursive—hot pink and ready to take on the day. I tug off my shirt in the store, making Nia’s face flush a deep crimson. I relish it before pulling on the new shirt.

“Aren’t you going to wear yours?” I ask, holding her tee out. I can tell she’s considering it, but all I get is her snatching the shirt and knotting it around her crossbody purse securely.

“In your dreams,” she says.

“Suit yourself.”

I throw my old shirt over my shoulder and continue walking through aisles with her. She somehow hasn’t found all the stuff on her list, and I’m wondering what we could possibly be missing. Once we’re stopped, having walked across the entire store at least three times—and these souvenir stores are far from small—I peek over her shoulder and scan the piece of paper. A slow smirk spreads across my face when I read the rest.

Penis popsicles, tiny silicone dildos, streamers with dicks… the list goes on for a while.

She moves her shoulder to shrug me off, and I flash her a grin that she does not return.

“That’s some risqué stuff you’re avoiding,” I say.

“I’ll buy it another time,” she says, shaking her head and pocketing the list. “Let’s head out.”

“But we’re still pseudo-fighting, and what the bride says goes, so what better time than now to finish up that list?” She narrows her eyes at me. “There’s only one place to get all of that.”

“I am not going to a sex shop with you, if that’s what you’re implying,” she says.

“But look, I’m already searching.” My hands deftly swipe across my screen as I browse the area looking for any store with a title containing dirty , secret , hideaway , or any combination of the three. And, much to my satisfaction, there is a shop within walking distance.

“A quarter of a mile away. Our lucky day,” I say, turning my phone to show her.

Her nose scrunches up.

I can’t tell where her mind is, but I try my luck. “Think of it this way: if you get all your shopping done for Ray, you don’t have to hang out with me tomorrow.”

She looks away from me, eyeing some random spot on the wall, no doubt considering the pros and cons of this situation before meeting my gaze once more and muttering, “Fine, but we get what we need then we leave.”