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“Hi.” I curl my hands in my lap, winding my fingers together.

“My name is Debbi. I see on your personal information sheet that this is your first time getting waxed.”

I nod and of course, Elise starts talking.

“She’s never done it before but she’s in college now and may as well make it look nice and clean down there, right?” Elise glances over at me.

I send her a pathetic smile, regretting my choices.

“You’re not doing it for a certain man in particular, are you?” Elise’s gaze narrows and I hurriedly shake my head.

“Not at all,” I lie. “This is for me.”

And August, if I get lucky and run into him again. The probability of that happening is probably less than one percent but hey.

A girl can dream.

Chapter Twenty-Two

SINCLAIR

Saturday night and I’m in my room with Elise. We’re getting ready to go out and do The Stroll, as they call it. It’s when all of the fraternities and sororities have a sort of open house that’s sponsored by the various organizations that fund them. Meaning alumni. It’s a tradition Thornhill has upheld for at least thirty years and it’s one of the most exciting weekends of the fall semester.

I’m standing in front of my pitiful closet, examining my pitiful clothes and I can feel Elise approach, a sound of disapproval leaving her. “You have nothing sexy to wear.”

She’s right. I don’t. That’s why my closet is feeling pathetic.

“You want to borrow something?”

I glance over at her, sizing her up. She’s skinnier than I am but not by much. And she has bigger boobs. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go through my closet.”

We thumb through her clothing, pausing over one sexy dress after another. She owns a lot of them, and I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together earlier. Elise is outgoing, loud and has no problem flaunting what she’s got. She came atme acting like a demure little princess when I first met her, and I wonder if she was just mimicking my own energy back at me.

“Do you think I’m a demure little princess?” I ask her as she holds a red strapless dress to the front of me. The fabric looks tight. Unforgiving.

“Yes,” she says without hesitation, waving the dress at me. “Try this on.”

“No way.” I shake my head. “I’ll end up looking like a sausage.”

“Oh my God, you will not.” She shoves it at me, the hanger falling with a clatter on the floor. “Please. Do it for me.”

Grumbling, I shed my T-shirt and shorts and slip the dress on, struggling to get it into place. Elise helps me, straightening the sides, adjusting the top before she steps away to study me.

“Wow. Okay, skinny queen.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn to the full-length mirror on the wall, pausing when I catch my reflection. Elise wasn’t lying. I definitely look like a skinny queen, like she said. The dress clings in all the right places, emphasizing my faint curves and showing off my cleavage, of which I never really thought I had any until this moment.

“You are stunning,” she breathes, coming to stand just behind me.

“Are you sure I look okay?” I tug at the fabric at my hip and she slaps my hand. “Ouch.”

“You look amazing. Stop picking at the dress. If you act uncomfortable, you’ll look uncomfortable and no one finds that attractive.” She rests her hands on my shoulders, smiling at me in the mirror. “Red is your color.”

“I don’t look…slutty?”

“Take that word right out of your vocabulary, please.” She heads back to her closet and starts digging for her shoes. “What size do you wear?”