Shopping. Why the hell did I agree to go shopping? Why the hell did I even take Nova's suggestion into consideration?

Spending the day at the mall has been torturous to my mental health. My physical health could beg to differ on that statement, though. With all the bags I'm carrying, I might as well have been continuously bench-pressing for the past three hours. I guess I shouldn't be complaining – my already-killer spike is going to be wicked next season – but good God, women can shop.

Okay, well, Julia can shop.

Nova's barely bought anything, save for a couple of new books by authors I've never heard of and a new pair of leggings for her "addictive" spin classes. Other than the lack of bags Nova has accumulated, she's carrying them herself. Julia, on the other hand, has used Easton's stupidity to her advantage. Seriously – he ran out of arm space over an hour ago and that's why I'm stuck carrying the extra bags.

"Man," I say to East as the girls walk into yet another store. "At this rate, you're going to have to buy a new suitcase for the flight to Vancouver."

"Fuck that," he mutters. "At this rate, I'm gonna need to rent a plane."

"And how are you going to pay for that plane after you pay me for carrying these damn bags?" I joke.

"Shut up, Warren," he mutters.

Walking into H&M, I do a quick scan for any nearby seats. Instead, my eyes find Nova. She's standing at one of the clearance racks near the cashier. I smile to myself. One thing I've noticed is that she practically gravitates to the sale signs. Unless we're in Indigo or some other bookstore – price doesn't seem to exist when it comes to books. I don't understand her mentality, but whatever floats her boat, right?

With a concentrated look, she sorts through the hangers, stopping when she comes to a sleeveless grey jersey dress. I don't know why that particular dress catches her attention. It's...simple. Grey and basic.

Glancing around, I notice that East and Julia have migrated to the back of the store; both of them are looking at dress shoes. Seeing as they're both busy, I walk over to Nova, adjusting the goddamned bags.

"Like the dress?" I ask, leaning against the rack.

Nova jolts backwards, as if she didn't hear me walk up. The disoriented look in her eyes quickly turns to a look of amity and she smiles at me.

"Yes," she replies. "I don't wear a lot of dresses, but I like this one. And...and it's on sale. I think I might buy it."

Because my mind seems to naturally succumb to picturing what she looks like in certain clothing, I picture her in that dress. Everything about the image is the same, minus the colour of the dress. Man, there's something about the colour grey that doesn't suit her; it's dull and bland and so unlike her that I just can't picture her in it. What she needs is that style in black.

"Good choice," I say, pushing away hanger after hanger. "But I think you need a different colour."

Without making eye contact, I can tell she's giving me a since-when-do-you-give-a-flying-fuck-about-fashion look. "What? Does grey not match my skin tone?"

I shrug, grabbing the black dress and holding it out to her. "I'm sure grey is fine on you, Scotia. Black, though? Damn, girl. Definitely your colour."

She blushes profusely, and I take great pride in that. The fact that my words have some type of effect on her makes me feel strangely egotistic in a good way. If such a thing exists.

"If I try both of them on and let you judge, will you shut up?"

I chuckle. "I can't guarantee that I'll shut up. C'mon. You know me better than that."

She squints at me. "You know, you really are an ass sometimes."

"I know," I smile. "But I think that's why you secretly love me."

Nova lightly punches me in the arm as we walk to the change rooms. "Keep dreaming, buddy."

Although her tone is playful, I catch a faint note of anxiety in the underlying tone. Is there a possibility I'm making her nervous? I look at her, noting how her eyes are locked straight ahead, that she's using every bit of concentration she has to not look at me. I also notice that her posture has stiffened.

Nova's unlike any woman I've ever met, but it's like all women are wired to react in a similar way: the blushing, the averted eyes, and the ramrod posture. My mind momentarily blanks. The signs are all there, so that begs the question, is Hazel right? Are her words from last night true?

The changerooms are basic, so when the girl working them guides Nova to a free one, I sit down on the cushioned bench that lines the far wall and let the bags fall to the floor, not caring if any contents spill. At the end of the slim hallway is a tall mirror that stretches from floor-to-ceiling. My reflection looks ridiculous from afar. A man carrying an overwhelming number of bags is almost embarrassing. I decide that next time Nova wants to go shopping, it's just going to be the two of us so I don't have to do any of this bag-carrying shit.

"So?"

I blink, looking up to see Nova standing in front of me, wearing the grey dress. While the style suits her and fits her body, the colour does nothing. "Try the other one," I say.

"You're being biased."

"What else do you expect? When I want something, I usually get it," I wink.

She turns around quickly, but I still catch the faint blush across her cheeks. The door closes with a soft thud, and I grin to myself. Why is it so satisfying to make her blush?

Less than a minute has passed by the time she's out, standing in front of me and wearing the black dress. It's hard to not whistle in awe. Damn, does she ever look good.

"What do you think of this one?" she asks.

I think she looks like every guy's fantasy, with all her fiery auburn hair and cleavage pouring out of the sleeveless dress. She's the kind of woman that any guy would swoon over.

"Trust me, baby," I say, "the black is better."

Sighing, she looks in the mirror and says, "You're – to my utter dismay – correct."

I don't realize I've gotten to my feet until she's inches away from me. "Just because I'm a guy doesn't mean I don't know what works for a woman like you," I say, making my voice sound deep and sultry. I rest my hand on the thin strap that rests on her shoulder. "It would be easy enough to take off."

Well, I've never seen her cheeks turn so red before, her eyes widen so much. Everything about her is telling me she's going to turn around and slam the door in my face, but it's like she's stuck in place.

I step closer.

"What are you doing?" she whispers.

"I'm going to kiss you. I'm sorry, but I can't help it," I reply lowing my mouth until it's covering hers.

From the way I'm feeling, I expect the kiss to be demanding. Instead, the kiss is gentle, almost as if I'm trying to savour as much of her as possible because I know that, sooner or later, she's going to push me away.

The kiss is a combination of pleasure and torture. It's like getting a taste of what I crave most, knowing that the supply is quickly going to run out.

And I'm right because Nova does step away. Her hands linger on my shoulders for a second longer before she turns around and re-enters the change room. I don't know if she realizes it, but before she closes the door, she shoots me one last glance.

When the door closes, I exhale deeply, frustrated and confused as hell. My actions were stupid. I know I shouldn't be doing this to her. To myself. It's getting harder and harder to breathe around her. It's like I slip a little further every second I'm near her.

I'm getting sick of this. I know it's going to lead to nothing but pain, yet here I am, slipping and falling and forgetting what it's like to breathe.

I run a hand through my hair.

This one's gonna hurt.