Page 54 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

“I’m Ginger Spice, dickhead. From the Spice Girls?” When I just stare at her blankly, she clicks her tongue. “ Ugh , you uncultured swine. Anyway, what are you supposed to be?” she counters, looking me up and down. “A giant yellow douche?”

I snort. Now, who’s the uncultured swine? “As much as I love the inside of a woman’s vagina, if you must know, I’m—” Movement behind Ronnie catches my eye, and I let out a disturbed yelp of shock. “Dear god, what are you wearing ?”

Blondie pauses halfway across the room and looks over at me, confusion furrowing her brow.

She peers down at herself—as if, in the span of the last however many minutes, she somehow forgot what she put on her body—then glances back up at me, pushing her glasses up her cute little nose.

“I’m a calculator,” she answers, shrugging.

I brush past Ronnie and step into the room, gaping in horror at the ungodly sight before me.

Up close, the costume is even worse than it had looked from the hallway.

Blondie is basically dressed in an ankle-length black trash bag with sleeves that’s been decorated with the same buttons and symbols you’d find on a graphing calculator. It’s detailed…and beyond hideous.

“Listen, Dornan, I know math is your thing or whatever, but this is too far. That costume is a monstrosity.” And is taking your little cosplay fetish to a whole new uncomfortable level.

“Hey, I made that!” I hear someone whine, and my gaze shifts to where Andie sits at one of the two desks in the dorm room, dressed in a green cloak, a platinum blonde wig that is striking against her tan complexion, and prosthetic elf ears, her hand frozen halfway to her face with a makeup brush clamped between her fingers.

When she frowns at me, I clap my palms together and tilt my head in a plea for forgiveness.

“My sincerest apologies. Truly,” I say before turning my attention back to Blondie. Did she run out of her cosplay fun money already or accept this as an act of charity? “Irregardless, you can’t wear that.”

“Irregardless isn’t a word,” Blondie retorts. “And why not? It’s Halloween, and last I checked, this is a costume.”

“Yeah,” Ronnie barks. “She can wear whatever she wants, fuckwad.”

I groan. “But if she wears that then my costume won’t make sense.

” I pull the backpack I brought with me off my shoulder and plop it down on the floor between us.

Unzipping it, I yank out the treasure inside.

“It’s our first Halloween together, baby,” I say with all the gusto of a man proposing marriage. “We gotta coordinate.”

Blondie reels back, her upper lip curling. “What the hell is that?”

I hold up the outfit I had specifically designed for her to accompany mine, unsure what part of it could possibly be confusing.

“It’s a monkey costume,” I answer, waving one hand at the outfit as if that will magically make them all appreciate the genius of my idea.

“Monkey,” I say again, slowly this time, pointing to the costume, and then gesturing to my own adventurer’s ensemble, complete with collared shirt, pants, brown boots, spotted tie, and best of all, a ginormous cone-shaped hat.

“The Man with the Yellow Hat,” I proclaim proudly.

When nobody in the room reacts, I ask, “Haven’t any of you ever seen Curious George ?

Adorable animated rascal of a monkey and his BFF slash owner human?

No?” A devastated gasp escapes me. “What kind of childhood did you even have?”

“One I clearly grew out of, unlike you, the grown man dressed as a cartoon character,” Blondie mutters.

I pout. “Come on, Blondie. I can’t be the Man with the Yellow Hat without a George. Please?”

“You don’t actually expect me to wear a slutty monkey costume?” she says, aghast. Beside her, Ronnie nods in silent solidarity, which is rich considering the feisty redhead is one gentle breeze away from exposing her vagina to campus.

I press a hand to my chest, insulted. “The audacity,” I scoff.

“It’s not slutty, it’s adorable ! Look at its little tail!

” I poke said tail to make it wag, but this doesn’t seem to sway her.

So, I do the adult thing and resort to sulking.

“And, like, not to be rude or whatever, but I refuse to be seen with you wearing that ,” I grumble, pointing at the black bag swallowing her body that’s currently masquerading as a costume.

Blondie peers down at herself once again, but this time, instead of confusion, I glimpse a split second of indecision crossing her face. I jump at the opening.

“Come on, spider monkey,” I plead, “what do you say?”

Her head snaps up, and she glowers at me. “If that is another Twilight reference, I might actually stab you.” When I shrug, she lets out an irritated—but defeated—sigh. “ Fine , but you have another thing coming if you think I’m going to climb you like a tree.”

Ronnie and Andie snort at the same time, but otherwise say nothing. The knowing silence that follows is comment enough.

A few minutes later, Blondie is changed and the girls are ready to go, the door to Room 237 swinging open to greet me.

It had gone without saying that I would wait out in the hallway to give Blondie privacy to change, and now that I see her in her costume…

I can kind of see why she thought it was slutty.

The outfit is a hooded, long-sleeved dress made of soft, chocolate brown fleece, with a full-length zipper down the front, a curved tail that reaches for the floor, and cream-colored ears and a monkey face decorating the hood.

While the costume itself isn’t inherently slutty, on Blondie, it’s borderline indecent, her generous cleavage and lengthy bare legs on display for all to see.

Because this is her first time trying it on, I hadn’t realized that the zip only goes so far up her chest, leaving a sizable amount of her delicious breasts exposed.

And as for the hem of the dress, well…let’s just say Ronnie isn’t the only one at risk of getting arrested for flashing this evening.

“You look great,” I assure her when she steps out into the hallway, and she responds with a glare, clearly less than enthused.

“Let’s just go,” she grunts.

The Phi Sigma house is on the other side of campus, a ten-or-so minute walk from Garfield Hall.

Ronnie and Andie saunter a short distance ahead, occasionally glancing back at us over their shoulders and muttering in hushed whispers to each other, while Blondie and I amble along in what is quite possibly the most uncomfortable silence I’ve ever endured.

I’m tempted to bring up the kiss, but think better of it.

If she meant what she said—that the kiss never happened—then the last thing she’ll want is for me to mention it now. Best to sweep it under the rug.

“Hey, so, I know it’s really last minute,” I hedge, “but I have to fly to Guadalajara to visit my abuela on Saturday…and my parents want you to come.”

Blondie skids to a sudden halt. “ What ?”

My steps falter, though I hesitate for a beat before finally turning to meet her gaze. Her cheeks are pink (either from the cold or from her rising fury, possibly both) and she’s shivering a little, goosebumps pimpling the tempting exposed skin of her?—

Focus, Damian.

“I know,” I say in a rush, averting my eyes lest Damian Jr. make an unwelcome appearance. It would be pretty hard to conceal him in this outfit, like trying to hide a boner in gym shorts. “My dad just sprung it on me this morning.”

It wasn’t the only thing that was sprung this morning, but I quickly swat that thought away.

Blondie sputters a few incomprehensible syllables before remembering how to speak. “You don’t honestly expect me to leave the country for this, do you? I can’t?—”

I hold up a hand to interrupt her. “I’m not trying to force you into anything, Dornan, I promise.

I learned my lesson.” A flicker of doubt passes behind those green eyes, causing my stomach to clench.

“Look, I have no issue making up some bullshit excuse about why you can’t come.

Just say the word, and I’ll tell them your dog ate your passport. ”

“I don’t have a dog,” she points out.

“ Ugh , fine. Your cat.” I grimace.

She arches a brow. “I don’t have a cat either. I’m allergic to them.”

Oh. So, she’s not a cat person. Very interesting.

“Are you allergic to dogs?” I ask, sounding far more invested in the answer than I intend.

She shakes her head. “No. And thank god for that because I adore them.”

My heart skips at that, my lips pulling into a grin. Remembering myself, I force a frown in its place. “Whatever, pets are irrelevant. We’ll just say you lost it. Or a stray ate it if you want to stick with the dog angle. Assuming you actually have a passport, that is.”

She gives me a wary look, and my stomach twists again.

Is that…guilt I feel? I can’t fathom why.

I’m giving her an out. But then…Blondie isn’t stupid.

The option to say no might be there, but she knows damn well I don’t want her to take it.

After all, isn’t this outcome precisely what we’ve been working toward the past several weeks? Don’t I want my parents to meet her?

Not like this, a voice whispers in the back of my head.

I don’t get a chance to investigate what on earth it could possibly mean before Blondie says, “You want me to come, though, don’t you?”

Like with my father this morning, the words don’t form a question so much as they seek confirmation. I sigh. Which one of us is the terrible liar now?

“Of course, I want you to come. This is the first opening they’ve given me, Dornan, and I…well, I could really use the win with them. Besides, my dad was pretty insistent about meeting you.”

“Yeah, but in a different country?” She winces as if she can’t comprehend the idea.