Into You Series: The Complete Collection

9. Nia

CHAPTER 9

NIA

I have never been to a sex shop, head shop, or adult store. This week was not the time I expected to change that, but here I stand, facing a storefront conspicuously placed at the end of a run-down, grungy shopping center. The sign above the front doors looks weather-worn, paint peeling off every edge. Its faded hot pink logo and the black—now almost gray—halo circling the first letter gives it the feel of a joy once hoped for but now long forgotten, probably just like my image of this wedding party vacation.

“Are you ready to go inside?” Ian asks. His eyebrows bounce up and down.

“Not really,” I say. He gives me a slight nudge to my upper arm with his elbow, and it seems my life is an odd tragedy where I’m doomed to always shudder under Ian’s casual touch while also being angry that it happened to begin with.

“We’ll get deep in there,” he says, and I groan. I try to pass it off as annoyed, but I think my ovaries just collapsed. I overcome my apprehension of being alone in this shop in favor of walking away from him so he can’t see me blush.

I open the heavily tinted door and find that the inside is much the same as the outside. The carpet ( Who the heck would put carpet in here? ) is matted down from years of use, the walls look like the inside of an old convenience store with slots running along them to hang hooks for merchandise, and the lights seem much too bright for an atmosphere where I would rather be shopping with a baseball cap and a hood over my head, maybe even sunglasses.

Then I notice the items for sale. There are two walls of DVDs that easily rival the stock of a closed video rental store. God, I hope these can’t be rented out… They have movie titles ranging from silly puns to…well, lots of questionable sex poses.

“At least they don’t beat around the bush,” Ian says.

Hardy har har, Ian.

One wall displays an array of rubber circle things and vibrators. There are different speeds, colors, and sizes. There’s even a mold of the penis of some famous porn star I’ve never heard of. My eyes drift over to the section with a purple painted wall, and I’m overwhelmed by handcuffs, leather suits, and whips. I feel my face grow hot and am suddenly very unsure if I can follow through with this.

“So, what’s on your list?” Ian asks, making me jump a little. He grins at my skittishness, and I throw him a glare in return before pulling the piece of paper out of my pocket once more. I feel like I’m in some alternate universe. One time there was a shop with Ian Chambers and cock rings… It’s like the start of a bad joke, or a fantasy.

I hold the list out to him and look both ways before stepping forward as if trying to cross the street without getting hit by a car—or getting pelted in the face by a floppy dildo.

“Don’t be shy,” Ian says. “Just think: if you see someone you know, you get the satisfaction of seeing they’re just as dirty as you.”

I flush once more. At this rate, I’m bound to look like I did receive a horrific sunburn.

“This is way beyond my comfort zone,” I admit in a whisper, but he smiles, walking backward with his hands in his pockets. I would rather he stay close to the walls, but of course he walks through the center of the store where everyone and their poor, nasty grandmother can see him.

“Don’t leave me!” I hiss louder, instantly covering my mouth with my hand when Ian holds a finger to his lips. I power walk to him using a mix of running and ever-careful tiptoeing.

He scans the DVDs a bit before pulling one down from the wall.

“ Backdoor Babes ?”

I choke and start coughing, and Ian lightly slaps me on the back. I look around and see nobody notices a thing. They’re all too wrapped up in their own purchases. There’s a man with long hair wearing a bandana, an old woman with a cane and her wild, gray hair tied into a bun poking through magazines, and then another couple like Ian and me, perusing condoms in the corner.

A couple like Ian and me. I shove the thought from my mind. We are not a couple, this is uncomfortable, and, damn it, I just want to go back to my hotel room and curl into a ball in the shower.

“Put it back,” I whisper, grabbing the DVD from him and shoving it back onto the shelf. I take a deep breath and stalk over to another aisle, desperately looking for bachelorette party items in the hopes we can leave as soon as possible.

I find the section nestled in the back corner of the store, filled with more niche items than even Ramona probably could have dreamed of. I start to blindly grab things, hoping for the best. She’ll be happy with whatever I bring, I’m sure of it, and she’s definitely paying me back for every bit of it, or at least splitting the cost.

The faint scent of woodsy cologne wafts around me and Ian reappears, rummaging through a box of tiny rubber penis erasers. “Do you want pink or blue?” he asks.

“Blue,” I say, mostly because I really need him to stop talking this instant. We’re drawing attention to ourselves. I swear that old woman keeps flashing us a grin.

Ian hands me a blue eraser and narrows his eyes then looks away with a nod as if deciding on something.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just not surprising you like blue balls.”

I scoff, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Makes sense. You seem like a tease.” He shrugs, starting to walk away. “Like you enjoy the control of it all.”

Why I oughta…

I choke out a laugh. “I absolutely do not.”

“Come on, Nia. Knowing you have that kind of power over a man? Imagining he’s sitting in front of you, so turned on and just begging you for release?”

My temperature rises and my heart thumps louder in my chest. I’m hoping my face doesn’t give me away, but once I feel the heat creep up my neck and into my cheeks, I know it’s beyond obvious. This afternoon is too much.

“What am I supposed to say to that?”

“That it’s true,” he says, “because I know it is.”

“You don’t know me,” I insist, following him down the aisle with my hands full of an assortment of trinkets.

“Weirdly enough, I think I do,” he responds. It’s that same confidence that both turns me on and also makes me want to punch him in the face about ninety-nine percent of the time. “I’ve worked with you for almost a decade,” he says. “Did you know that? You’re Apollonia Smith. Organized, controlling, Type A, secretive. When are you going to open up to me? In another decade?”

“I don’t owe you anything,” I say, trying to keep my voice down. I almost feel bad.

No, he totally deserves the cold shoulder.

“You don’t, but I’m probably the longest sort-of friend you’ve had, aren’t I?”

I stand there, pulling every relationship from the back of my mind and trying to recall the last time I contacted that person. My best friend from high school is in South Africa, I think. She might be doing some mission trip, but I honestly don’t know. My roommate from college? I think she’s married now. Might have kids.

In reality, my closest friend outside of family is Grace, and though we get lunch together during the week, my social life outside of work has become pretty barren.

“I’m close with my brother,” I say, cringing the instant it leaves my mouth. How pathetic.

“That doesn’t count.” He laughs. “I’ve known you the longest and you know it.”

“But are we really friends, Ian?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. I’m asking the question almost to myself as well. We were something like friends before. He hung out in my office more than anyone else, and I looked forward to it.

I looked forward to it. Christ.

“I would hope so after all this time,” he says. “So, tell me something I don’t know—a secret.”

“I don’t have secrets,” I say.

Lie.

“Tell me a dirty secret, Nia.” I hold back a laugh, causing him to smile…his genuine, warm smile. “Come on, we’re in the perfect place for it.”

“I don’t know,” I say, walking between aisles as he follows behind. Why do I kind of want to tell him something dirty? It’s taboo, and he’s a hot guy desperate to hear these things. When was the last time that happened? My stomach churns.

I absentmindedly pick up items from the shelves then put them back, just needing something for my hands to do while we talk. This isn’t a conversation I imagined having with Ian, and now that it’s happening, I’m trying to do anything I can to distract myself from it.

He’s confident. Sexy .

I hate it.

“I’ll tell you one of mine,” he says, straightening his posture. My breathing increases and I try to hide it by consciously holding my breath and letting it out in increments to mask the steady acceleration of my heart rate. I’ve never realized how much work it takes to pretend to breathe normally.

“Fine, go for it,” I say.

“I had sex in the law library,” he says.

“Of course you did.”

Did he press her against the shelves? Were books falling with each hit? Did he cover her mouth so the librarian wouldn’t hear her moan?

Fuck— was it the librarian?

He grins and a small smile spreads across my mouth. I push it down, lowering my head and continuing to walk on.

“Your turn,” he says.

“I didn’t agree to that,” I say, turning to him and crossing my arms, holding the items I’ve collected in both hands.

“Don’t ruin this,” he says, taking everything from my grasp to hold them instead, relieving me of the burden. “I shared, so now you share.”

I smirk and start walking again. It’s odd, this feeling of entertainment and semi-enjoyment around Ian. It’s been too long since I’ve let my guard down around him. I almost miss it. “When I was in middle school, I found my mom’s romance novels.”

Ian laughs. “And, let me guess—you returned them?”

“No,” I shoot back. “I…well, I’ll have you know I was obsessed with them.”

“Go on,” he says, looking around as if ensuring this is a private conversation. It’s almost a gentlemanly gesture, trying to conceal my secrets while holding my contraband.

“I learned what an orgasm was,” I say, feeling goose bumps run down my arms. “But, obviously, my expectations for sex were a bit high after that.” Wow, I just said that.

“I’m sure they were,” he responds, inhaling sharply. “And has someone lived up to that expectation?”

I turn to face him, his body much closer now than it was just a minute ago. I can feel the warmth radiating off him. The low hum of his voice is sending shivers down my spine. I wonder what other words can come out of that mouth with that same tone.

“Yes,” I lie, and whether he believes me or not, I don’t care. Those scenes in romance novels are just fantasy. What guy actually demands sex on the beach? What guy realistically makes you climax with just oral? Happy endings are just for those who are in their twenties hoping for their Prince Charming. Prince Charmings do not exist, but hunky men in romance novels do.

And, unfortunately for me, so does Ian.

He looks me up and down as he has been want to do lately then smirks. He passes me, saying nothing, and heads to the DVD wall again. I walk faster, attempting to keep up with his long legs. When I catch up, he’s already pulled a movie down with his free hand.

“I dare you to buy this,” he says, shoving it toward me. Oh goodie for me, it’s Backdoor Babes again.

“This isn’t truth or dare, Ian,” I say, shoving it back to him.

He shakes his head in protest. “It could be. Have a good sex life. Indulge.”

“I have a good sex life,” I insist.

Lies! Why are you such a silly liar, Nia Smith? What sex life? I haven’t had sex or any form of intimate contact since…hell, God knows when.

“Sure you do,” he says, nodding in clear disbelief. “But buy the movie.”

“But I have a good sex life,” I repeat.

“Saying it again won’t make it true.”

“Buying the movie won’t prove a thing.”

“What do you have to prove if your sex life is so good anyway? I think this will prove you’re confident enough in your level of enjoyment of romance novels that buying some simple, dirty movie is just an afterthought.”

I narrow my eyes and snatch the movie from his hand, turning it over to read the description. Surprisingly, Backdoor Babes is not exclusively about butt stuff but instead about construction workers. Who would have thought?

“Will it make you leave me alone?” I ask, peering up at him.

“No, but you’re too prideful to not buy it now.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”