Page 3 of The Love You Win

Racks of beautiful clothes give pops of color to the otherwise monochromatic shop, and I eye them with distrust. “As sweet as it is that you want to step up and be my sugar-mama, why exactly are we here?”

Jess flicks her hand in the air dismissively. “Do I need a reason to treat my bestie to a day of shopping and fun?”

“Yes.”

My friend clutches her chest. “Don’t you trust us?”

“Are you really asking me that right now?” I let my fingers trail across silky fabric as I arch an eyebrow at her. “The last time you bought me clothes was at Halloween. You promised you wouldn’t pick out anything too racy and then showed up at my apartment with a slutty nurse costume that didn’t even cover my butt cheeks.”

Nevaeh laughs. “I warned her you’d be pissed about that.”

“Well, I was,” I retort. “Thank god I had those Cookie Monster onesie pajamas.”

“Oh, come on,” Jess says with a roll of her eyes. “You would have been such a hot slutty nurse. You just need to have some confidence in yourself, babe. Now try this on.” She pushes a crimson bodycon dress against my chest, forcing me to grab it. A silky off-white number with spaghetti straps and a flared skirt follows quickly behind it. “And this.”

“You still haven’t told me why we’re here.”

“Sweetie, it’s been five months since you and Alex broke up. I know you thought you’d be spending your life with him. We know it’s been hard, and without teaching to distract you this summer, you’ve been struggling. But it’s time to put yourself out there again.” Nevaeh squeezes my shoulder. “It’s time to move on.”

Sure. Move on. She makes it sound so easy. She’s not the one who had to call and email every single one of her friends and family members two weeks before her wedding date to tell them it was off. She’s not the one who had to return wedding gifts and smile at words of sympathy while scrambling to renew a lease she’d already let lapse, keep it together for her students while feeling like a worthless failure, or lose—in one day—an entire group of friends she’d had since high school because they were her ex’s friends first.

“I’ve moved on.”

They both shoot me incredulous looks.

“What? I have. I totally don’t think about Alex anymore.” Ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I don’t cry myself to sleep anymore. And I haven’t sat on the couch to Netflix and chill with my thumb hovering over his name in my contacts list for at least two months. I’m over him. I am.

Jess turns to Nevaeh. “Did you see the photo Alex posted last week with his new hair? Can you believe he bleached it? He looks like early 2000’s Justin Timberlake. Total ramen hair.”

“He didn’t dye his hair last week,” I say with a frown. “He just posted a photo yesterday, and it’s totally still brown.” My friends stop sifting through the racks and stare at me with raised brows.

Dammit. Busted.

In my defense, I’m not stalking Alex’s socials because I’m still in love with him. I’m looking for some sign that he regrets dumping me, so when he comes crawling back, I’m ready to put on a revenge dress and tell him to kiss my ass.

Mostly.

Sometimes, I’m just a glutton for punishment.

I let my head hang in shame. “Fine. So maybe I need to move on. I still don’t see what that has to do with us buying dresses that cost a third of my paycheck.” They practically shove me into a dressing room, demanding I start with the red bodycon dress.

“You need something hot to wear on dates,” Jess says as I wiggle into the skin-tight dress. Jesus. It looks like I painted it on.

“Oh, no.” Nevaeh’s nose crinkles. “I think the slutty nurse costume was less provocative.”

I snort, closing myself back into the dressing room and trying on a little blue number with a halter neckline and a low-cut front. “I have plenty of clothes,” I tell them as I open the door to model this new option. It’s not a winner, either.

“New clothes, new you,” Jess sings. “Besides, you tend to dress for comfort.”

Pulling on a yellow dress that does nothing for my complexion, I grunt. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“No,” Jess says when I swing the door open dramatically. I immediately swing it closed. “And there’s nothing wrong with dressing for comfort. When you’re at home or teaching your students. But when you’re out on a date? Dress to get what you want.”

I roll my eyes as I pull a slinky black dress over my head. The fabric is shimmery, and it has a scoop neckline, thick straps, and a hemline that falls mid-thigh. I stare at myself as I ask, “And what, exactly, do I want?”

Nevaeh’s throaty chuckle filters through the thin changing room door. “To get dicked-down real good by a hot professional athlete.”

I choke on a laugh. “That may be what you want. I’ve never been the girl that falls all over herself for a jock.”

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