Elite (Eagle Elite #1)(27)

Tears blurred my vision. See, that was the problem. I heard everything, and I was so tired of being told I wasn’t good enough! So exhausted pretending to be something I wasn’t when I had only been at their damn school for less than a week.

I tried to pull free.

Of course Nixon wouldn’t have any of that.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around my body and sighed into my hair, kissing my head. “You are… impossible.”

I didn’t really know what to say to that.

“Mason, don’t follow so close, alright?” Nixon said over my head to one of the security guys.

“Of course, sir.”

“Sir?” I repeated, though it was muffled from his muscled chest. He pulled back and again grabbed my hand.

“It’s a respect thing.”

“You're like twenty,” I pointed out, glad that we weren’t focusing on me and my short-comings anymore.

Nixon’s face tensed, then his face flashed with humor. “Right, twenty.” He looked away and mumbled, “Age doesn’t really matter in my world.”

“Your world?”

He didn’t look at me. He seemed to be on a mission. And then we stopped walking. Well, he stopped walking. I would have kept going, because there was no way I was going into that store.

“Prada?” I said aloud. “Are you insane?”

He smirked and pulled me toward the store.

I dug my heels into the ground, or at least I tried. But who I was kidding? Nixon was a god among men, he simply pulled my arm and I followed him into the beautifully-lit store. It was like my eyes couldn’t absorb everything I was seeing around me. So many purses and bags and colors and… A girl could die happy this way.

“May I help you?” A skinny woman in a black suit smiled in our direction. Her gaze lingered longer on Nixon than should be proper, considering he was still in college. Though to be fair, he didn’t look it. I stole another look out of the corner of my eye. Seriously, was he eighteen? He looked so much older, more mature.

“Messenger bags, do you guys carry messenger bags?” Nixon asked this as his eyes took in the walls of the brightly-lit store. “Something classy.”

The woman beamed. “Right this way.”

Within a few minutes I had five different types of bags displayed in front of me. One was a men’s leather bag which was kinda cute. The others were nylon which I guess was fine. I mean, it was Prada.

My fingers itched to check the price tags. Honestly, I didn’t even want to touch them, I mean what if the oil and germs from my hand somehow went onto the bag and—

“Trace, pick a bag.” Nixon urged me forward almost forcing me to touch the pretty objects. I reached down and then for some reason, probably my nervousness, I looked to the right. Near the counter on a display was a beautiful royal blue bag. I probably should have looked away, but I couldn’t.

My eyes widened just slightly. I cleared my throat and looked back at the bags in front of me.

I felt rather than saw Nixon walk away. Shivers ran up and down my arms at his absence.

“This one.” Nixon returned and handed the blue bag to the woman.

I didn’t want to look at her, but I couldn’t help it. Her face was impassive, but I could see a muscle twitch in her jaw. “This is a special edition—”

“For a special girl.” Nixon put an arm around me. “Then it’s perfect.”

Shaking her head, the woman walked to the counter and rang up the purchase. “That will be one-thousand seventy-five dollars and eighty-nine cents.”

I coughed. I swear it was involuntary. Was Nixon insane? All of this? For a bag? I opened my mouth to say something, but he very purposefully elbowed me while he took out his wallet and flashed her a black credit card.

The minute he handed it over she checked the name. “Can I see some ID, Mr. —”

The card dropped out of her hands. Shaking, she licked her lips and shook her head. “Nevermind.”

“What?” Nixon leaned forward. “You don’t need my ID?”

“No, Mr. Abandonato, th-this-this will be fine.” With trembling fingers she handed over the receipt and the bag. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Nixon flashed a smile. “No, I think we’ve had enough. Thank you for your… help.”

Good God, the woman was going to pass out. She nodded and pinched the bridge of her nose as we turned around and walked out.

“What the hell, Nixon? You like the godfather or something?” I laughed nervously. He joined in but his laugh was hollow.

“So, frozen yogurt?”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I’m hungry?”

I sighed. “Fine, but this isn’t a date and this isn’t babysitting detail. You know I can take care of myself, right? You can just take me back to the dorms. I’ve got a paper to write anyways and…” My voice trailed off the minute his hand touched mine. Confused, I looked down at our grasped hands. I didn’t even realize we had stepped onto an escalator until we hit the top floor. He didn’t release my hand. I was torn between wanting him to release it and wanting to smack him upside the head. He couldn’t just toy with my emotions like that. Make me feel important for no reason other than his own entertainment. Growing angrier by the second, I tried to pry my hand free, but his grip tightened.