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Isabella

My boyfriend is the best boyfriend in the world.

"It's not that hard. Use your eyes, man."

"Seriously, Jas. I've been looking everywhere, and I can't find it."

"Far out. Just get whatever and come home. I'm getting bored."

"What do you mean by bored?"

He had sighed before answering my question.

"I'm horny, okay? And these fucking videos aren't doing it for me. Hurry up."

"Okay, I'm hurrying. Bye"

He treats me like I'm the one for him―like I'm the queen whose feet he grovels at in greeting. If my laces come undone, he'll tie them; if my back aches from slouching too long, he'll massage it. Being taken care of isn't a solitary job to perform on my own. Not when he's around.

This idea of being treated tenderly by my partner explains why he constantly ends calls in my face.

"Gosh, he's so annoying," I whine to myself as I dart through the men's summer-related section of the store.

Jasper's made a claim that we're to go on a date next week, of my choosing. And because of his generosity, I apparently owe him a specific shirt that he's been fond of over the past few days. This isn't the only inconvenience; my jeans are too thin, as is my top, and the weather isn't the friendliest today. To him, offering a jacket isn't necessary, even if he dropped me off with the expectation that he'd return home in the warmth of his bed. Continuing my search is the only solution to pushing the irritative thought aside.

The opulent store, floored with glossy marble tiles and presenting clothing racks made of lustrous steel, is uncrowded. I decided to come just before closing time, meaning I can take it easy between aisles instead of furtively waiting as people cram the space. But I won't be able to look around for myself. I'd walked through the entire mall and left this one for last, stalling the moment where I'd need to look for that hideous bright green button-down of Jasper's. Hideous.

A rock-hard chest clothed in a blouse stops me from leaving.

I bump into it, my palms flattening on the surface out of instinct.

"Oh my gosh. I'm so―"

The remainder of my apology ceases. Tilting my head upwards, I'm astounded with sharp features and dark wood-coloured eyes. Bronze skin is prominent over shallow cheekbones, lashes are long and curled to almost touch eyelids, and a beard is short and well-groomed.

It's only been a short moment and I'm already swooning over this man. But perusing the beauty of him reels in distant memories, and my mind is trying to fix on something it can't get ahold of. I prod at my thoughts, dig for anything that might be reminiscent, then—

After ten seconds of conspicuous staring, I find something.

Familiarity.

The panic of what I dreaded unfurls in my stomach.

"I'm so sorry," I manage, trying not to tremble and shuffle in my spot. After months of avoidance I decide to come to this mall. He isn't even saying anything, nor is he looking at me. I want to slap that cheek of his. Does he not remember me? Does he not remember what he'd bought me, and that I almost let him tear through my clothes in the front seat of his car? He was the reason I'd almost cheated on Jasper.

When he coughs and deigns to stare back at me, I realize my hands are still on his chest. I awkwardly slide them off, cursing myself for not perceiving the solid skin that was beneath my palms and adhering my focus to that sexy face and my distracting thoughts instead.

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