Page 117 of Just Wait

“Then that’s what I want to do.”

Lumen gets a handful of other fancy pieces that can be worn to our shows or on nights out, along with several tank top and skirt sets that are more casual. While she’s browsing bras and panties, I obnoxiously shop for her, picking out clothes for the colder weather that I know is coming.

She’s focused on getting things that work now, but the farther north we go and the closer we get to November, the more she will need an entirely new winter wardrobe.

I keep it simple, grabbing leggings, jeans, sweaters, and a few long-sleeve shirts while she’s busy.

My arms are full by the time I make it up to the cashier. She drops her phone, plastering on a smile.

Goddammit.

She’s definitely been taking pictures of us, or at the very least me.

“Can you get started on removing the security tags and ringing this up?” I ask, forcing myself to be cordial.

I thought we got lucky with the store being empty, but it only takes one person to post to social media, and fans can swarm ridiculously fast.

“Of course,” she says, reaching to grab the top set of leggings.

“I hate to rush you, but we have places to be. I would appreciate it if you could pack it up quickly.”

Her eyes dart to her phone, and my suspicions are all but proven.

If she didn’t post on social media, she texted her friends to tell her Liminal’s lead singer is in her store.

I stride over to Lumen to avoid bitching at the security team. They’re standing near the door, which makes sense, but it also would have been nice if they could have given a warning. They know what happens when servers, cashiers, and other customers pull out their phones.

“You almost done, sweetheart?” I ask, coming to a stop behind Lumen. “I’m starving.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry. I got lost looking at the pretty things.” She chuckles awkwardly.

“I have another store or two that I’m hoping we can hit if we have time before we need to get back to the venue.”

“I’m ready now.” She puts the baby pink lacy bra back on the rack, and I make a point of picking it up.

“You can take that up to the cashier. I’ll be right over.” I kiss her cheek and check the size on the bra, grabbing the silver version and one in light blue.

The matching panties are on the rack under the bras, and I have no idea what size she wears.

She’s curvy.

Hell, I’m a skinny fuck, and I still wear a men’s large in most shirts, just because if I downsize, they always show my stomach when I raise my arms. If I can find a medium tall, I’ll go with that, but not all stores carry them.

Her bra is a 34D, so I settle for a medium and a large in all three colors.

God, I hope I didn’t go too small.

Or too big.

Which would be more insulting?

Do women’s underwear sizes match what I got in leggings?

Jesus.

I’m going to give myself an ulcer.

At least I tried.