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“Done.” Probably a good idea, considering my family hates her.
“Good. Great.” She claps her hands in front of her. “I’m going to get ready, and I’ll need your help with how to dress. This is perfect. We can use your family as a dry run.”
My brain wants to scream at her“Don’t make me do this.”
Instead, I sit at the table and dread the moment she comes back out. It’s like waiting on a bed of nails, wondering which one is going to pierce the skin first. I can’t actually tell this girl to wear certain things, can I? What she’s worn before only shows a lump of a body with no real shape, and if I were going to tell her how to catch a man’s attention, I’d address that first. Can I really do it, though?
She texts me that she’s coming out over the school app, and I jot down a mental note to give her my real phone number for future conversations.
Her door cracks open. “Okay, go easy on me.”
“Just get out here.”
She walks out in a crop top and leggings that cling to her body, her bare midriff on full display. My brows rise even thoughI told myself I shouldn’t have a reaction. Honestly, I thought I would have to tell her to show more. Not this.
She pulls on the hem nervously. Her hair, now down, drips past her shoulders in sheets of gold. Makeup highlights her features—most notably, her red cheeks, more prominent from a mix of awkwardness and blush.
“Say something,” she snaps.
“Oh, I— I—” She looks…fantastic. Who knew what she was hiding under there? If I saw this girl walking around campus, I’d definitely check her out. I’m nearly speechless, stomach tightening.
“I can’t pull this off, can I?Ugh.”
She turns to run into her room, but I take a few strides to catch up to her and hold back on her arm. “Len, I didn’t say that. You look…good.”
“Why did you hesitate?”
“I’m trying to take it all in. Calm down.” I step backward. When I look at all of her, I get overwhelmed. She’s…beautiful, and I feel like an ass for thinking it. The right clothes and a little makeup shouldn’t make this much of a difference. I’ve never been a shallow person. This is— I sigh, turning on my analytical brain, like Len would do, and start from the crown of her head. “Did you straighten your hair?”
She nods.
“I like it. It looks good.”
“Thank you.”
She pulls on her shirt again. It’s obvious she doesn’t feel relaxed in it, so I skip that part for now. When I get to her leggings, I have to skip that part, too. I didn’t realize how amazing her hips and ass are, and I don’t want to bethatguy. “The shoes look comfortable. And sensible. Fashionable, too.”
“Hair and shoes. That’s all you got for me? I thought you wanted me to write this hockey article for you, Zaiah?”
She’s right. I’m not holding up my end of the bargain. Swallowing, I reach out to her, and she eyes me suspiciously before putting her hands in mine. I need to look her in the eyes when I say this so I don’t upset her. “The outfit is adorable,” I tell her. “Sexy, even. It shows off your body in a way that you’re saying you want to be…”
“Puckable?” she offers.
“Exactly. However…it’s obvious you’re not feeling it. You look nervous. You keep tugging at the hem, and I’m going to guess that you’ve never gone out in public showing off your stomach before. If you’re nervous around me, imagine when you step outside. You’re going to be even more fidgety. All anyone is going to see is you messing with your shirt. If we ever get to the crop top stage, you’re going to have to own it. Right now, you don’t have the confidence to wear it.”
She nods. “So, no on the shirt?”
There’s a bit of relief—from me too at how well she’s taking this. “It’s a no on the shirtfor today.”
She looks away, and it’s as if I can see her brain working.
“And it’s only a no because you don’t feel comfortable,” I enforce. “Not because you can’t pull it off.”
She lifts her head. “You think I can pull this off?”
“I don’t think, I know.”
“You think guys—um, Clark, or guys like Clark—would look at me?”