Page 52 of Foul Territory

10

SYDNEY

“What’s all of this?” Lauren asks, lifting up one of the dresses I’ve pulled from my closet.

“I’m picking out my outfit for Nash’s party.” I flip through my closet until I see something that remotely says Hawaiian or tropical. My options are limited since most of my clothes are back at home.

“We still have two weeks. What’s the rush?” She sits on my bed crossing her legs.

“Koa’s coming over to help me decide my final look. This was the only day he was free.” He gruffly reminded me last night when he dropped me off after my date that his schedule is packed with games as they get closer to the playoffs and if I was serious about having him help me it needed to happen today.

“Why is Koa picking out your outfit? Doesn’t seem like something either one of you would volunteer for.”

“I wouldn’t but he pissed me off. He made a comment about how the outfit I wear to Nash’s party shouldn’t be distracting.”

She gasps. “And he’s still breathing?”

“For now.” I drop the hot pink bodycon dress on my bed and walk over to my dresser. I dig through the second drawer until I find my bathing suit. “I’m secretly hoping this will give him a heart attack.” I hold out two different bikinis.

I bought them for spring break but I haven’t had the guts to wear them yet. I’m ashamed to admit that Koa’s reaction to me wearing them crossed my mind at least once when I picked them out.

The idea of strutting around Nash’s birthday party in a bikini holds zero appeal. Trying them on in a private show for Koa? There’s something taboo about the idea. I’m off limits, out of bounds. He shouldn’t be alone with me like this. Yet we keep toeing the line between what’s expected of us and this foul territory where there are no limitations.

“He’s going to lose his mind,” Lauren says, holding back her laughter. “You’re evil for torturing him like this.”

I’m not convinced I’m torturing him in the way she thinks I am. I wish I had that kind of control over Koa. “He deserves it. I’m mad. I’m tired of him telling me what to do.”

“Yet, you invite him over here to do exactly that.”

“No, I invited him over here to prove a point. It doesn’t matter what I wear, he'll find something to say about it,” I correct her.

“If you model that for him,” she points to the bathing suits, “he will definitely have something to say. I doubt all of the words will be coherent, but there will be words. Are you prepared for his reaction?”

“I'll tell him to get over it like I usuallydo.”

“That’s not the reaction I’m talking about. I mean the flip you on to the bed or push you up against a wall type of reaction.”

“That would never happen.” Do I want that? Yes. No. I meant to say no.The answer is no.Oh who am I kidding? A part of me does but I know how it will end. I’ll be left alone once again wondering why I trusted him with my heart. “Even if I manage to turn him on a little, he would never act on it.” The only emotion I’ve been able to pull out of Koa is anger.

“If you say so,” she singsongs. “Is that him? They had an extended practice this morning. He should still be there,” she says, after someone knocks a few times on our door.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. “I know. He should be at least another ten or twenty minutes.”

“Maybe it’s Charlie. I’ll go check. You can keep prepping for your little show,” she teases and hops off the bed.

“It’s not a show. It’s a punishment.” Even though I doubt Koa will get turned on, the painstakingly long process of trying all the clothes on will annoy him. That brings me an immense amount of joy.

“It’s for you,” Lauren says, ducking her head in my room.

I look over her shoulder and my eyes widen. “What is he doing here?” Out of all people, Joe is standing awkwardly in between our kitchen and living room holding a brown paper bag in his hand.

“He didn’t say,” she whispers before disappearing. “She’ll be right out,” she tells him before entering her bedroom.

I do a quick mirror check. My lack of makeup is a concern, but at least my bangs cover my newest blemish. I’m still wearing my pajama shorts and tank top. I grab the first sweatshirt I see that's oversized enough to cover me up and throw it on over my head.

I’m a little apprehensive as I walk out of my room and close the door. For some reason, I don’t want him to be able to see my personal space. It’s weird enough he’s here at the dorm.

Joe straightens his posture as I enter the room. His eyes trail over my bare feet and legs, finally landing on my face.