Page 102 of Try Me
“Yeah? I thought I heard a little hesitation there.”
Carrie laughed as I filled the screen with my face again. “No, it looks really good. Well done.”
I’d chosen a navy and yellow silk, diagonal-stripe tie to go with my khakis and, at the last minute, had decided to get Carrie to vet the choice. Only one chance to make a first impression and all that. “No one’s going to whisper behind my back or throw things at me?”
“No guarantees, dude. High school is brutal, but—actually, you’re in the bathroom, right? Turn around and lemme see your butt.”
“Carrie!”
“Do it!” she hissed.
I rolled my eyes but, once again, complied, putting my back to the mirror, flipping the camera setting, and holding it over my shoulder so she could see my bum.
She cackled. “Oh, they’ll be whispering, all right. Tight pants are tight.”
“They’re fitted. Shit, are they too tight? If I go up a size, they fit weird in the thighs.”
“Yeah no, it’s a good thing. And no pleats in the front, right?”
I turned the camera toward my face and stared her down. “Do I look like a guy who would make that mistake?”
“You wore seersucker to Chet’s law school graduation.”
“Seersucker is fucking timeless. Fight me.”
“Right, but not on a tie. Pants? Jacket? Fine.”
“Uh-uh, you’re not winning this. Okay, gotta go now. I’ve procrastinated long enough that Chet’s got the coffee going.”
“You know one day I’m going to tell him you do that.”
“Do it, and I’ll tell him you smooched that yard guy.”
“Ugh, you’re annoying. He was a lifeguard, by the way.” I blew her a dramatic kiss, and she grinned reluctantly. “For real, have a good first day, don’t take any shit, and you’ll be all good.”
“Back at ya, baby sis.”
She flipped her hair. “I own this school. They’re gonna webcast the games this year; feel free to tune in to the preseason match and watch me mop the floor with your alma mater’s point guard. Tell Cheech, okay? I texted him the other day, but he’ll forget. His brain is full of boring-ass law stuff.”
As it turned out, Carrie was even more talented at ball than Chet had been. At seventeen, she already had a laundry list of college scouts eyeing her. And, also like Chet, she didn’t suffer lack of confidence. At all.
“He won’t forget. I promise.” I hung up and followed the scent of coffee from the bedroom in our small Georgetown apartment to the galley kitchen.
“Verdict?” Chet didn’t look up from the coffee he was pouring in my mug, but I spotted the corner of his smile and leaned in to kiss it as I wrapped my arms around him and snatched my coffee.
“Hey, I was—”
“I know. Thank you. Verdict was: approved.” I leaned against the opposite counter, eyeing Chet’s back as he doctored his own coffee efficiently. His suit jacket hung neatly over the back of a kitchen chair, and he wore a white button-down with sleek navy trousers. I’d watched him in court a handful of times and would shamelessly testify the sight of him cross-examining a witness got me hard.
He was lethal in a suit and killer in a courtroom. He’d graduated at the top of his class from Georgetown, and one of the district’s premier firms had snatched him up even before he graduated. He hadn’t considered Georgetown, initially, thinking it was far beyond him until Lena’s stepdad suggested it and then wrote him a recommendation letter and called one of the deans himself. The student loans were massive, but we were careful with our budget. Chet had refused to let me help him out, of course, but I had an idea he’d make partner in record time. The salary increase would take care of what remained.
And me? Well…
“Fuck me.” Chet had turned around and was eyeing me up and down. “No way, go find some paisley or plaid. You look too damn good. Those kids aren’t going to be able to pay any attention to a word you’re saying, and the faculty…how many of them are single?” He narrowed his eyes at me in mock consternation as I reeled him in. He was giving me way too much credit. “I think I’m actually serious about the single—”
I kissed him to shut him up, and for minutes there was only the sound of the coffee dripping into the pot, our quiet breaths, and the whisper of our fingers over fabric as we clutched each other.
“You’re gonna be late,” I murmured, when Chet wedged his hand behind my waistband.