A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(125)

“I want to watch you walk around Chanel if it makes you happy,” he says.

“Are you my dream man?” I rest my hand against my chest and bat my eyelashes, making him laugh.

“Fine. I’m partial to their lipsticks. And the girl who wears them.” He kisses me and takes my hand, leading me out of Cartier.

We’re entering the store minutes later, the imposing security guards standing at the entrance watching us as we walk by them.

“Do you own a Chanel bag?” Crew asks me.

“I have a black wallet on a chain I got for my sixteenth birthday. My mother owns a few and I want them, but she won’t give them to me.” I laugh. “I don’t blame her.”

“I’m surprised your father hasn’t bought you a bag,” he murmurs as we stop in front of the counter, staring at the various bags on display. “If you could have one, what color would it be?”

“Pink,” I say without hesitation. “A mini flap, I think. I don’t want it to be too large.”

“You’ve been thinking about this.” Crew sounds amused, and I smile at him.

“Every girl at prep school dreams of a Chanel bag at one point or another, don’t you think?” I make a face. “I sound like a rich snot.”

“You are one,” he teases, his expression turning serious when the salesperson approaches us.

“May I help you?” She’s a tall, reed thin blonde with deep red lips and a French accent.

“Do you have any pink bags? Specifically, the mini flap?” Crew asks, like he shops for Chanel bags every day.

“Let me check.” She turns her back to us as she slides open the compartment that holds an exorbitant amount of Chanel bags.

I wander around the store while Crew waits, stopping at the various displays. The shoes and the jewelry and clothing. It’s all so beautiful, like little pieces of art. But if I’m going to invest my money, it’s going to be on items that are actual art, not designer clothing or accessories.

I can’t lie though. I do love the occasional designer item.

When I come back to stand beside Crew, I see that there are three pink bags sitting in front of him on the counter, the saleswoman hovering nearby.

“Which one do you like best?” he asks me.

The mini flap size is a deeper pink than I would like so that’s out. There’s a medium Boy bag that’s gorgeous, but it’s more of a hot pink, and I’m not a fan of the heavy chain strap.

There’s a medium flap bag in lambskin with silver hardware that is the most gorgeous pale pink. I pick it up, admiring it before I unlock it and peek inside.

“This is beautiful,” I breathe, setting the bag onto the counter.

“It’s a gorgeous color,” the saleswoman agrees.

“A little big though.” I press my lips together, glancing over at Crew.

He’s watching me carefully. “You like it?”

“Oh, I do. But it’s so expensive. I can’t imagine owning something like this. Not yet anyway.” I smile at the saleswoman who watches me with faint disdain. She takes the bag and slides it back toward her like I’m going to try and steal it. “Thank you for your help though.”

“Of course,” the woman says snippily.

“Let’s get out of here,” Crew mutters, taking my hand. He pulls me out of the store, the two of us laughing once we’ve escaped, though I can see faint scowl lines at the corners of his eyes.

“That bitch was rude to you.”

“It’s fine.” I wave a hand, dismissing her. “She just thinks we’re dumb teenagers wasting her time.”

“Maybe I wasn’t wasting her time. Did she see what I was carrying?” He holds up the Cartier bag. “I can buy out that entire store.”

“Oh stop, Mr. ‘I’m a Very Important Man’ Lancaster.” I push myself into him, sliding my arm around his back. “You sound like such a snob.”

“I am a snob.” He smiles down at me, some of the tension easing from his features. “I don’t like how she treated you.”

“It didn’t bother me.”

“It bothered me.” He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing me to do the same, and he cups the side of my face, kissing me gently. “Why are you so damn nice all the time?”

“Why are you so scowly all the time?” I lift up, pressing my mouth to his, and people dodge past us on the sidewalk, most of them grumbling under their breath. “Come on. Let’s go get a snack.”

“I’d rather snack on you,” he murmurs.

I roll my eyes. “We can’t go back to your place again.”

“Why not? No one is ever there.” He grabs my hand and we resume walking. “I can call Peter. He’d be here in ten.”

I’m hesitant, not because I don’t want to get him alone, but more that I’m worried that’s all he wants from me.

Sex.

His actions don’t say that, but I also need the words.

Desperately.

Crew lets go of my hand so he can tap away on his phone. Sending a text to Peter, I’m sure. Completely oblivious to the war that’s currently raging inside my head.

The doubt pops up every other day or so, when I wonder what exactly Crew is doing with me, and how serious his intentions are. I should be playing the cool girl. The one who doesn’t have a care in the world, who knows how to keep it casual and never be too demanding when it comes to a boy.