You bite your lip. This might take longer than you had thought.
Before you can grow too overwhelmed, Amy steps forth, brushing against your side. You instinctively lean into her. She’s warm, and her body is soft against yours, not bony at all. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. She smells vaguely of apple and cinnamon.
“Where do you want to go first?” Amy asks softly. She smiles at you, barely visible from the corner of your eye until you turn your head to look at her.
You bump your hip against hers, returning the smile in kind and fighting the temptation to lean over and press a kiss against her cheek. Not that it really matters; by the cheeky grin her smile turns into, she seems to notice your sudden desire. Your cheeks heat up, and you quickly say, “I don’t know. Uh…”
It’s a good question. A store this size surely has thousands of books, maybe even tens of thousands. You’re pretty sure they’ll have a lot of books that are pertinent to your interests, but—as much as you might enjoy the thought of spending the rest of the day in here browsing the store’s book selection, you don’t know if Amy would be willing to do the same, and you’re fairly certain that her mother would not.
Amy thinks about it for a moment. “Maybe we could start over at the fiction section?” she asks, though there’s a doubtful tone in her voice. “Maybe we could find something interesting over there?”
You shrug half-heartedly. It’s as good a plan as any, really. Before either of you can take a step, though, Carol speaks up behind you. “I’m going to go and look through the gardening section,” she says disinterestedly. You get the feeling she’s trying not to sound disinterested, but it’s not working. “Come and find me when you’re done.” You stare at her as she wanders away, before Amy shakes her head beside you, drawing your attention back to her.
“Right,” you say, shaking your head. Out, inappropriate thoughts. You reach over and take Amy’s hand, now that Carol isn’t around, and begin marching through the store.
The warehouse itself might be well-designed, but what you quickly discover as you move through the store is that their classification system is not. You’d expected their fiction section to be neatly categorized, but it’s sorted more into haphazard categories that seem almost to resemble an online store’s browsable categories. Just passing by what seems to be the fictional romance section, you walk past no less than six separate categories; teen romance, adult romance, erotic romance, romance audiobooks, romance audio-visual materials (which seems to be just a fancy name for a DVD section, much to Amy’s consternation), and classical romance.
It’s tempting to stop in the erotic romance section, but then you imagine standing beside Amy, looking through the covers of erotic lesbian novels, and your cheeks flame red once again. One day, maybe, but you think you’d like to at least be able to kiss Amy whenever you want before you try to read lesbian porn with her.
Eventually, the two of you come to a stop in front of the classical fiction section. Your eyes wander past, but the only sections that seem to lie beyond your current position is the children’s book section, which clearly doesn’t hold very much interest to you—at least, until you remember Madison’s little brother. Actually, maybe you could stand to take a look through there. Except you don’t know what kind of books he likes to read. Damn it.
“Well, it’s as good a place to start as any.” Amy’s voice jars you from your thoughts, making you jump a little. She smirks again at you, causing you to pout a little at her, though you almost immediately resettle yourself by letting go of her hand, reaching an arm around her hip briefly and pulling her to rest against you. She lets out a small, startled noise, but before you can pull your hand away, she rests her own hand over yours and snuggles into your side, making a soft, contented sound.
Suddenly, your vague annoyance with the absurd size of the bookstore just completely fades away. “Come on,” you say, turning your head so you’re almost whispering directly into her ear. “Let’s see what they have.” Amy quickly snatches up a wheeled basket as the two of you pass a stack of them.
And so that’s what the two of you do for the next several hours. There’s a wide range of books—a huge range, really—but you’re more focused on the girl you have your arm wrapped around. It’s a liberating experience to be able to walk around with Amy like this. It’s just innocent enough that you think you can explain it off as just being thankful if Carol spots the two of you touching like this, but it’s decidedly romantic enough that you can’t help but give half the people you walk past a big, stupid grin as you go, as though silently telling them, ”This is my girlfriend. My girlfriend!”
Not that the walk entirely distracts the two of you from the books around you. If anything, it gives you something to talk about as you wander around the store, occasionally browsing through the shelves or looking through the stacks that interest either of you. As it turns out, Amy hasn’t read Wuthering Heights, while you haven’t read either of the original Frankenstein or The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde; and it’s completely unnotable when the two of you simultaneously pull a copy of a book called Neverwhere from the shelves. Similarly, she doesn’t question it when you spend ten minutes searching through a stack of cookbooks for information on cooking on a budget, nor when you see a particularly interesting book on the history of unions; and you don’t question it when she stops for a book on literary theory.
Your luck doesn’t hold up quite so well when you spot a small, bundled series of magazines on fashion design, sold for two dollars apiece for nearly thirty dollars, though when you explain that it’s a present for Madison, you don’t feel any anger from her, and she doesn’t try to move away from you. Progress, at least of a kind.
Similarly, your luck doesn’t extend to your purchasing of a variety of materials in the teacher’s aisle, though you think that is more born of the fact that you pick up a large handful of materials besides just books—highlighters, pencils, notebooks, stick-it notes and graphing paper, alongside three small books on effective teaching methods and tutoring styles.
“I run tutoring sessions for some of my girls,” you tell her softly as she raises a questioning eyebrow. “Madison and Sophia. They’re good students, but they’re smart girls, and I think they could do better with a better teacher.”
Amy smiles at that, a soft smile. “They’re lucky to have you,” she says quietly, and leans up to place a kiss on your cheek. Your cheeks burn, but she just settles herself back down, a sad smile on her face. “It can be a big help to have someone tutor you sometimes.” Her tone is wistful enough that you slow down for a moment and spin her until you can give her a more proper hug. She stiffens violently for a second, then relaxes into it with a wry twist of her mouth. She’s tense for a minute, then you feel her beginning to slowly relax.
“I could help you with your studies,” you offer after a moment, stroking her sides. She shifts slightly against you, protesting the movements for a moment until your hands settle back against her back and she’s once again encircled in your arms. “If you tell me where you’re up to, at least.”
She shakes her head against your neck, though you feel her lips twist up into a happier smile. She doesn’t immediately turn down your offer, though. “I’ll think about it,” she says instead, snuggling against you. “Thanks.”
You nod, content to allow her to pull herself as tightly against you as she can for a moment. “Of course.” There are people around, but you can’t bring yourself to care much about them. Let them think what they will about you. Comforting Amy is more important, even if you’re not really sure why she’s suddenly feeling wistful. And it doesn’t seem like Amy minds, to you.
Indeed, Amy doesn’t seem to mind staying close to you like this at all, because a good ten minutes later, she’s still tucked tightly against you. Her breaths are steady and cool against your neck, where she’s currently tucked herself. All you can bring yourself to do is to slip your hands slightly under her shirt to press them against her naked skin, an act she feels as well, by the sudden gasp she lets out. She feels… really soft. And abruptly, you’re thankful that Amy can’t see your face right now, so she can’t ask you why you’re suddenly so embarrassed, though admittedly that’s probably the least embarrassing thing you can imagine her calling you out on. Nobody could blame you for imagining Amy naked.
“We should head back up to the counter.” Amy is speaking even softer than she was before, now, speaking the words directly against your neck. You shiver a little. The words almost feel like little kisses. “Do you have everything you wanted?”
There’s a lot of things you want, but very few of them are helpful right now. Tactfully, you refrain from mentioning them. And everyone calls you unsubtle. Ha. “I have everything I want right here,” you reply, leaning your cheek against the top of her head. You look down at the books in the basket sitting passively by Amy’s side. Okay, you probably could spend another few hours (or weeks) in here browsing their selection, but you don’t need anything. You’ve already found a small present for Madison, and you’ve bought yourself a selection of materials to help with tutoring, so you should be fine.
Amy just shifts against you a little, pressing closer for a moment before backing away again. “Good,” she says, finally pulling away a little so she can give you a heady smile while looking right at you. Your arms are still wrapped around her, so she can’t move completely away, but she doesn’t seem to mind, and you do enjoy being able to look at her face. “It’s nearly one, though. We should find Mom so we can get some lunch.”
You pout at her, turning her smile cheeky again. “But I don’t want to,” you whine. “I’m comfortable here.” You stroke up her spine as best you can with her shirt still on to emphasize your point, pouting even harder at her.
“Maybe you are,” she says agreeably, “but Mom won’t be. And,” she adds, poking at your arms slightly, “don’t think I don’t notice you feeling me up back there.” She doesn’t sound upset, though, and there’s a teasing smile on her face as she says the words, though you also notice a faint flush of red creeping up her cheeks. You wait, but she doesn’t say anything else, just stands there with her hands resting on your forearms. You hadn’t even felt her up at all, really. You’d only touched her back, you didn’t even touch her ass once.
Well, if she doesn’t tell you to stop, you’re not going to. Though she has asked you to go and pay for your books, so. Ugh. You reluctantly slide your arms away from her waist, though as a small act of protest, you don’t actually let your hands slip out from under her shirt until you’re stepping away. Her stomach is even softer than her back. “You didn’t mind,” you mumble petulantly.
Before your hands can slip away completely, Amy quickly reaches down and captures one of your hands in hers. She gives you a small smile, though you catch her gaze darting away anxiously around the store as she does. “I didn’t mind at all,” she admits, turning back for just a moment to poke her tongue out at you. “Come on, let’s go find Mom.”
Your bag is heavy once you’ve lifted it out of the small cart Carol had put it on as the three of you had left the bookstore. It’s not heavy enough that you struggle to lift it at all, but it’s heavy enough that you can’t ignore the strain it puts on your arms. Maybe you should try and find some exercises to do for your arms, you consider ruefully. Your legs aren’t tired at all, despite your traipsing around a massive warehouse for nearly three and a half hours, but your arms are burning after carrying a bag of books for thirty seconds.
Amy smirks at you when you let out a quiet sigh of relief after Carol takes your books and places them in the trunk of her car. You pout at her, but it only makes her smile wider, a teasing edge to it. She shuffles her way over to stand behind you, leaning close so she can whisper in your ear, “Having a little trouble there, Taylor?”
You give her another glum pout. “There were so many books,” you mutter back, your petulant voice almost as quiet as hers. “I couldn’t leave them there all alone. It’s not my fault they’re so heavy.”
That doesn’t make her stop smirking at you, but you like to imagine that it’s more of a fond smirk than a teasing one now. She pats you on the hip after checking to make sure Carol isn’t watching you, then takes a step away, instantly making you miss her presence again. “At least you found a few you wanted,” she says. “I’m looking forward to reading Neverwhere. It sounds interesting.”
It actually does. “It sounds fun,” you reply. “You’ll have to tell me what you think of it.”
“Of course.” Amy hesitates, glancing over at Carol for a moment as though to make sure she’s out of earshot. “You’ll have to…” She takes a deep breath, then looks off to the side. “Never mind. Mom, where are we going for lunch?” You give her a questioning glance, but she determinedly ignores your gaze. It couldn’t have been anything important, though you’re still feeling a little puzzled when her mother turns around.
Carol’s mouth is drawn in a tight line. If you couldn’t feel the calm ebbing through her, you’d almost mistake her expression for one of mild frustration. She thinks for a moment, glancing at you, then back to the car. “I was thinking we’d stop in at the new McDonalds,” she says finally. “The one Eric was telling us about.”
