Twist My Heart Brooke Taylor (classic books to read .TXT) 📖

it at him. The jerk caught it even with his eyes closed. Which left me to make my approach alone.

Talking to a perfect stranger shouldn’t be too hard. It was simply talking to someone who doesn’t want to talk to you. She was probably really busy. Yeah, I shouldn’t bother her.

I took a couple steps back. Maybe I could pick out enough details from the jeans she was wearing to match them with ones from the wall. Dark wash. Ankle length. The fit looked slimming. Was slim the same as skinny? Basic pockets. Did the leather patch on the back have the brand name? I leaned closer. She sidestepped and stared wide-eyed at me.

Oh God! Busted staring at her ass. I swung my gaze to Nik, hoping he’d come rescue me, but no…the jerk was laughing. And not just a little bit.

“Asshole.”

Shock played over the woman’s features.

“Did I say that out loud? I’m sorry. I do that. I wasn’t meaning your asshole.” Dear lord! “I meant my asshole. I mean—I was calling him an asshole.”

You’ve said asshole four times now.

She followed my flustered gesturing to Nik.

He lifted his hand in a lazy wave before he pointed to her, to me, and finished off with his thumb back at himself before tilting it up. I made wide eyes at him and shook my head while mouthing, ‘No!’

Dropping his chin, he laughed again. The jerk still looked irresistibly sexy.

My muse flashed an awkward smile, but didn’t run away. In fact, she seemed stuck in place, her hand jammed in her purse. She probably had her finger on her phone ready to hit 9-1-1.

“Sorry. He’s…” Teasing me about having a threesome with you. “Being an asshole.”

What was one more, right?

Five. Five is what one more was.

Deep breath. “He’s irritated at how long it’s taking me to buy jeans.”

“Men can be such impatient shoppers.” She glanced around, no doubt hoping for a way out.

Ugh, think…think… Distract her…no, flatter her! Everyone likes to be flattered. Except for Nik. I glanced over at the shoe department, but Nik had leaned over the counter to talk to the shoe salesman. Crap. I was on my own. Flattery it was.

“I really like the jeans you’re wearing. You’ve got great style. Where did you get them?”

The hard freeze to her features looked like panic. But she swiftly added, “They were my sister’s.”

She’d yet to truly make eye contact. Her rapid words attempted to brush me off. All polite signs for me to leave her the hell alone.

Yeah, I couldn’t do that.

“What are they? Fierce?” As she shifted away, I spewed out in desperation, “I’m Amish.”

Her stunning blue eyes narrowed as they angled my direction. “Amish?”

I nodded.

She looked me dead on for the first time. An expression I couldn’t quite identify passed over her features. Indecision? Confusion? Worry? Fear? I wasn’t sure, but relief flooded me when she finally shook it off and laughed. “You say ‘asshole’ a lot for an Amish girl.”

Noticed that, huh?

Her eyes twinkled with amusement and intelligence. She knew I was full of it. Lying to her. But for some reason, it was making her stay and talk to me. So I went with it. “I’m ex-Amish. I curse and wear jeans now. Or I will once I figure out how to buy them. Please help me?”

“Um, I…I’m not really supposed to… I’m waiting for my friend who should be here any moment.”

Not only was I being weird, I clearly intended to extend my weirdness with her even longer. No doubt a trillion more excuses were rolling through her mind.

“Please?”

She glanced around the store before her eyes met mine again. “You really need help?”

It sounded like a question, but I’m sure she meant it as a statement. “Yes. Please, just pretend I’m your sister. Who is ex-Amish. And says ‘asshole’ too many times.”

Emotions I couldn’t quite identify seemed to crack the clear blue of her eyes like they were glass—doubt? grief? She swallowed hard. “My sister did like to cuss.”

Then, with a nervous twitch of a smile she held her hand out. “I’m, ah…Aimee.”

“Thea.” Okay, weird. First time I said my own name aloud. “Nice to meet you, Aimee.”

“I bet we’re close to the same size. This brand always fits amazing, and this one is really popular, too.” She quickly snagged several pairs from different areas before hustling me toward the dressing room. It was almost as if she were trying to hide or hide me, but then I remembered she’d told me her friend was due any minute and she was in a hurry.

Before I went inside, I turned to see Nik had left the shoe department. Probably checking on Titan or using the restroom, but odds were a hundred percent I’d give him a black eye if he turned up in the dressing room naked.

I shimmied the first pair of jeans on and nearly wept. They fit perfectly—comfortable but form-fitting. Aimee agreed as she watched me view them in the mirror. “Those look awesome. Your fiancé won’t be able to keep his hands off you, though.”

Her assumption struck me as odd. I started to explain how Nik wasn’t my fiancé, but didn’t want to get into a whole thing. I was still a fugitive who needed to be careful with what I revealed.

She did a half turn in the mirror. The pair she’d tried on looked great too. Our nervous energy soon turned to laughter as we tried on more styles before working our way toward some other options she thought I’d like. In the end, I found several pairs to purchase, and even took the tags off one pair of jeans to wear out with a slouchy, super-soft, white tee. I handed everything to the clerk at the register, and as I waited for her to ring me up, I got up the nerve to touch the tattoo I’d been eyeing on Aimee’s forearm. My fingers danced across her inked skin with a jolting shock. I jerked back from the quick sting and