Page 30 of Reeling in Love

“No,” I say, trying to keep my eyes from moving all over her body. “I wanted to be around if you needed help getting undressed since you’re not quite sober. And that dress... well, it seems a little difficult to get out off by yourself.”

“Shut up already,” she says, her cheeks getting a little pink. “I’m quite sober and I think I’ll be perfectly fine. Thank you very much.”

“Hey, why’re you getting all worked up? I’m just being a good friend.”

“Then be a friend, Gabs. A friend.”

“A good friend, Nora.”

My God, I want to kiss her again right now. The way she’s getting all worked up, I feel so drawn to her.

Our eyes lock again and it takes an insane amount of energy and willpower to peel my gaze from her and step back.

“Okay, I’ll be right here, sitting on the couch until you’re done,” I say before turning and making my way to the couch.

I hear a quick click as she locks the door.

Wow! Way to go, Gabriel. Super slick of you.

“Your dress seems difficult to get out of.”

Who says something like that? If ever there’s a prize for the worst comments in the history of comments, I might stand a good chance of winning it.

Chapter 12

Nora: #FeelLikeAWoman

I shut the bathroom door and stand there with my back resting against it for some time

Was it all my imagination? The kiss, the racing heartbeat, the way he looked at me, as if he had eyes only for me, and the way he whispered in my ear? Could it be my silly mind fabricating these things?

It must’ve been. That’s a much simpler explanation than believing it to be true.

I’ve had too much to drink, and it’s making me imagine things and feelings that don’t exist. That can’t exist. That’s it. I’m never going to drink so much. Maybe I’ll stop drinking altogether, y’know. Become a teetotaler.

I turn on the shower and instantly realize I’m way tipsier than I thought because I’m still fully clothed. I turn it off quickly and fumble to get out from under the soaked dress, but it feels like it’s glued to my skin. It feels like it is my skin.

I let out a frustrated sigh. Gabs was right. This dress is a nightmare to get out of. I remember Lily having to yank it up a bit when I put it on. I give it another try, but it’s no use. The fabric clings to me like it’s got a personal vendetta.

Should I try to rip the dress off myself? Maybe, but the fabric seems too strong for my strength. I frantically search for a pair of scissors. Cutting through it might be my only option now. Either Gabs doesn’t keep any scissors here, or my brain is too foggy from the drinks, but I can’t seem to find them anywhere. I search through the bathroom drawers, tossing aside toiletries and spare towels, but no luck. My heart races as I open the cabinet under the sink, but it’s just filled with cleaning supplies.

I struggle for a few more minutes with the dress, but with my shaky hand-eye coordination, the tight dress now wet and stubbornly unyielding, this task is officially impossible. Unless I want to spend the rest of the night trapped in my bathroom, there’s only one thing left to do—swallow my pride and call Gabs for help.

I slowly unlock the door and call out, just above a whisper. “Gabs, you there?”

The next second he’s at the door and speaking through it. “Yeah, you need anything?”

I open the door. “I need your help… to take this off.”

He stands there, staring at me as if he’s seen a ghost or something. I don’t blame him. I probably look frightful, with my wet, tangled hair plastered to my face, the dress clinging to me, and my makeup streaming down my cheeks in messy rivulets.

“Hey, can you hear me?” I say, snapping my fingers in front of his face, hating to put myself in this embarrassing situation.

It’s not that this is the first time he’s seen me at my worst. He was there for me when George broke up with me, back in school, because I had too many pimples on my face. It was Gabs’ shoulder I cried on. He was the one who applied some cream on my face, something his mother had brought from France for him to deal with his pimples.

He was there for me during Claire’s pool party when Josh and his friends teased me, saying I was probably a boy because my breasts hadn’t yet developed. Gabs had come to my rescue and announced he’d seen two tiny buds on my chest and he’d beat anyone who’d dare say anything different.

But it’s different today. I feel a little conscious. I feel like a woman in front of a man, rather than a friend with another friend.

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