Page 7 of Made Over by Meredith

“Same same,” she said, absently placing her hands on my shoulders to push me to the wall, where she asked for my size then chose three different pairs of pants for me to try on, along with a few different shirts and sweaters. She shoved me toward the dressing rooms. “I want to see each one.”

I closed the door and stripped down to my boxers before pulling on the slim cut pants. I wasn’t used to wearing them, and they didn’t feel super comfortable.

“What’re you doing in there?” Meredith asked.

“I can’t…” I tugged at the pants. “I don’t like them.”

“What? The shirt? The pants? Both?”

“I didn’t even get to the shirt yet,” I said, and her shadow moved under the door.

“Lemme see.”

I grabbed the closest shirt she’d handed me, a thin brown sweater, and tossed it over my head, then opened the door. Meredith’s gaze swept over me. “I don’t like that color on you. But… What’s going on here?”

Meredith was tall, and she bent nearly in half to stare at my crotch. I stepped back, instinctively hiding my groin behind my hands.

“What are you doing? Come here. Let me see…” She pulled me closer so she could run her hands up and down my legs. “Do you…” From her crouched position, she tipped her head back, mouth open in shock, and it did something to me that had me covering myself again. “What kind of underwear do you have on?”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because.” She lifted the hem of the sweater, revealing the elastic band of my plaid boxers. “You are! You wear boxers?” She shook her head like it was a problem I wore them. “No wonder you think these pants are uncomfortable. You’re wearing the same underwear as thirteen-year-old boys. Aiden,” she sighed, and I was ready to close the door on her and her sighing on her knees. “You’re an adult man. You need to wear adult men’s underwear.”

“What’s wrong with boxers?”

“From purely a comfort level, they don’t feel good under some clothes with all that material, right?” But she didn’t let me answer because she went right on. “And from a we’re- trying-to-get-you-laid standpoint, boxer-briefs are so much sexier than boxers.”

“I don’t?—”

“I like the pants on you, but try them with this.” She pointed to the long-sleeved shirt, then closed the door, brooking no argument. I switched out the sweater for the button-down and by the time I opened the door, she had a pack of underwear in her hands. “We’re getting these.” She ripped open the package to toss me a pair of stripped cotton before assessing me once again. “I like you in lighter tones. It’s a good contrast to your coloring.”

I combed my fingers through my messy dark brown hair, then reflexively touched my glasses, the thick dark frames I wore over my brown eyes. I supposed there wasn’t much about me that stood out. Not like Meredith, who would never blend in with a crowd.

I rolled my shoulders back, plucking at the sky blue shirt, and Meredith pursed her lips, nodding to herself absently, then wiggled her hands, wanting me to lift one of my arms up to her. Once I did, she carefully rolled the sleeve to my elbow. “The difference between what men want and what women want is primal. Men like big tits and asses, something about evolution and caveman genes needing to know their mate will birth them lots of babies, right? But our cavewoman genes want us to pick a mate with the ability to, like, kill mammoths and build us huts, and how would you show that? Muscle. Accentuate your muscles.” She dropped my right arm and touched my left so I’d lift it, allowing her to roll that sleeve up as well. Then she skated the tip of her nail along my forearm. “I’d guess that ninety-seven point seven percent of women are highly attracted to forearms, and lucky for you, you’ve got nice ones.”

She crowded behind me in the dressing room then, and even though she was only a few inches shorter than me, she needed to poke her head around the side of my shoulder to catch my gaze in the mirror. “Shoulders are a big one, too. I don’t know why you wear such baggy clothes, but do you see how this shirt fits you?” She drummed her fingers on the top of my shoulder. “Thisis where the seam should be.” She stroked down to my biceps. “Not here. So, what do you think?”

I nodded, too busy trying to ignore how her hands moved to my waist as she tipped her head at an angle in this adorable way.

“Do you like it?” When I nodded again, she laughed. “Super helpful, Aid.”

She stepped to the side, studying me like someone might study the Mona Lisa. “You ever wear contacts?”

“I tried them. Didn’t like ’em. Why?”

“Might give you a different look.”

“Like the unpopular girl who takes off her glasses and suddenly she’s hot and prom queen?”

She laughs, whacking my arm. “Yes, exactly that.” But then she shrugs and makes her way out of the dressing room. “Just an idea. Either way you’re handsome.”

She said it so off-handedly, I almost missed it. But she thought I was handsome?

I tried not to let it inflate my chest or cloud my vision, but still I couldn’t help smiling as she motioned to other pieces of clothes.

“Put the boxer-briefs on. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. And I want to see what the gray chinos look like on you.”

Once the door closed again, I blew out a big breath and put on the next round, including the underwear, which I actually liked. Held everything together quite nicely down there and made a difference underneath the pants.

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