Page 25 of Not That Into You

He smiles, giving me an indulgent look. “Of course, you are. We’re going to be at the beach. Appropriate attire for the beach is a swimsuit.”

“I have my own.”

“I’m sure you do. But this one will be for the Hamptons.”

“Cameron.”

“Monica.”

“I’m not traipsing around in a skimpy bikini.”

Eliza reappears, black swimsuit in hand, and extends it toward me. “Not a bikini. It’s a one-piece.”

I purse my lips, but before I can say anything, Cameron grabs the suit and asks, “Can you give us a moment?”

Eliza quietly slips away as Cameron grabs my hand and tugs me back into the dressing room before pulling the curtain closed.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to change in front of you.”

His eyes narrow. “What’s with your fear of swimsuits?”

“I’m not afraid of swimsuits.”

“Then try this one on.”

I press my lips together.

“What’s the big deal, Monica?”

“I just don’t want to parade around wearing next to nothing.”

“There’ll be no parading. But we’ll be in the Hamptons, and you may not know this, but there are a lot of beaches there. My parents’ house is on the beach. And usually when one goes to the beach, one wears a swimsuit.”

“Maybe one doesn’t want to go to the beach.”

“Don’t be silly. One always wants to go to the beach.”

“Not this one.”

“Well, my girlfriend would want to go to the beach.”

“Then you should have invited her.” I tilt my head. “Oh, wait. But you don’t have a girlfriend.” I tap my finger on my chin. “And why is that, Cameron? All that money and shine, and no woman wants to be with you?”

He clenches his jaw. “Or maybe I just like variety and don’t want to choose just one. Or give any woman I date the wrong impression by asking her to pose as my girlfriend this weekend.”

I snort.

“But I understand if you don’t think you’re up to the task.”

My brow furrows as irritation bubbles over into anger even as I recognize he’s baiting me. “I told you I could do it.”

He cocks his head. “Yeah, but now I’m wondering if I made a mistake. I’m no longer certain you can handle this weekend.”

“Hey.” I cross my arms. “I can handle it just fine. I can handle your fancy party and your stuffy dinners.”

“Then why are you scared of one simple swimsuit?”

There’s no way I’m going to tell him the thought of wearing a bathing suit in front of all his rich friends—who probably work out regularly with trainers—makes me uncomfortable. I can’t be the only person who feels vulnerable when clothed in nothing but a small strip of spandex.

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