Page 17 of The Dating Pact

She changed into another dress, this one with tiny straps and buttons along the front. It floated around her legs when she strutted across the length of her room.

“Reminds me of the beach.”

“That’s where I got it.” She flashed me a smile, proud of my good observation. Then she held her breasts, lifting them up and letting them drop. “But I can’t wear a regular bra with it. Choices are strapless or braless. What do you think?”

I swallowed down the sudden lump in my throat, and when it didn’t go away, I chugged the water, allowing myself time to formulate a response.

She wrinkled her nose. “What?”

“You want my opinion on your boobs?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged like it was no big deal.

But now that she’d pointed out the fact that she had boobs, I couldn’t stop ogling them. At her hard and pointed nipples beneath the flimsy material. What the hell was it made out of? Gauze? Tissues?

She planted her hands on her waist and turned to check herself out in the mirror, shifting side to side, and I blinked away, determined not to think of her boobs or imagine them in any way. “I don’t know about the bra, but I don’t like the dress.” When she whipped back around to me, I backtracked. “I mean, I like the dress. You look great in it, but maybe not the vibe you’re going for?”

She seemed appeased, flouncing back into her closet, and I slapped my hand to my chest, feeling a ball of…something there.

I was still thumping on it when she walked back out, this time in a white button-up top that showed absolutely no boob but with a tight blue skirt that displayed a lot of leg.

Brooke was average height, but she stepped into high heels, and suddenly, her legs were a mile long. She sashayed in front of me, and I didn’t know why I was there. This was so stupid. Me lying here in her goddamn bed as she showed off all that golden skin.

What was the point?

“What do you think?” She plucked at the skirt, proving exactly how tight it was. Barely any wiggle room.

“I don’t know,” I said, and her brow rose.

She faced her mirror again. “Might be too business?”

“Too business? What business are you going to do with your ass out like that?”

Her jaw dropped, and I honestly didn’t know what I felt worse about. Me checking out her ass or that I was being a dick about it.

Then she burst out with a big guffaw, and the shame dissipated. “I guess my butt has gotten bigger since the last time I wore this.”

I had the urge to point out her butt was fine, but I didn’t want to inadvertently confess this fashion show had generated some new and awkward feelings about my friend. I crossed my arms as she disappeared into her closet for another round.

“How’s it going on your end?” she asked, out of sight. “Any connections on the app yet?”

“Not a one.” I could hear the clang of hangers and the rustle of fabric.

“What?” She stuck her head out, the angle revealing more of herself than I thought she intended, in only a beige bra with lacy sides.

For fuck’s sake.

“How is that possible?” she asked, and I shook my head, shifting my attention to her closet only once I knew she was safely back inside.

“How is what possible?”

“How are you not finding someone?”

“I don’t know. I screw it up when I start talking to them. I get all…” I trailed off as she sauntered out in the gold tank top she’d shown me earlier and dark jeans that sat high on her waist and flared out at the bottom like some cute disco chick.

“Get all what?” she prodded, circling to the mirror, brushing her hands over her hips and thighs. I wasn’t exactly a fashion plate, but the color of her top brought out the gold and honey strands of her dark hair that she’d curled in waves around her shoulders. It also highlighted the column of her throat—since when I found a throat attractive, I had no idea—and the peek of her cleavage. She tucked the bottom of the tank top into the waistband of the jeans, right behind the button, and turned to me with her arms out. “What do you think?”

What did I think? She was gorgeous.

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