Page 21 of What if I Told You

“What the fuuuuck?”

Ella’s clothes are everywhere. Literally on every surface of the room. Several pairs of shorts, pants, and even a few skirts are strung over the couch and chair along with six different colored tank tops, a black blazer, a solid red shirt, a blue shirt, a pink and green striped shirt, a purple flowery blouse, and four different pairs of shoes. Two bras, two thongs, and three pairs of panties are hanging from the television causing my mind to wander to places it should dare not go.

Do not think about Ella in a thong.

For the love of God do not think about it.

What size was that bra? B cup? C? Double D?

Fuck. Stop it August.

Her makeup is scattered across my coffee table from end to end along with a hairbrush, four hair clips, hairspray, and a bottle of perfume.

Trying my best to shut out the mess that is now my apartment, I focus on following the scent of cinnamon rolls filling my nostrils.

“Ella?” I shout, hoping wherever she is she’ll hear me and feel better that I’m home.

“Hmmm?” she murmurs from somewhere in the apartment.

I take one glance into the kitchen and stop in my tracks.

“Oh, my God, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble to myself at the sight before me. On the counter next to the stove are at least a dozen boxes of Cinnabon cinnamon rolls in varied sizes. A few of them lay open with strings of icing the only remaining evidence of Ella’s anxiety.

“Auggie, I need your help!” I turn just in time for Ella to come around the corner into the kitchen, a cinnamon roll box in hand as she stuffs another piece into her mouth.

Also, she’s not wearing clothes.

Okay, she’s in a black bra and matching panties so she’s wearing clothes but she is sooo not wearing clothes.

“Whoa. What are you doing?” I ask, immediately squeezing my eyes closed and covering them with my hand.

“What do you mean what am I doing?” she cries. “I’m trying to get ready for my interview Aug and I need your help! I don’t know what to wear! I’ve been through every fucking outfit I own and nothing feels right and I don’t know what they’re going to expect. Do I wear a suit? Like dress pants and my blazer? Do I go casual and wear leggings and one of your hockey t-shirts?” She pops another bite of cinnamon roll into her mouth. “I’m at Defcon-five over here and where the hell were you this morning? You left me and didn’t tell me where you were going.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. Force of habit,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “Morning workout downstairs and then I went for a run.”

She doesn’t say anything for a minute before I hear, “What’s going on? Why aren’t you looking at me?”

“Because you’re not wearing any clothes.”

“Pfft,” she scoffs. “Okay Mr. Pump and Dump, like you’ve never seen a woman in her underwear before. It’s me Auggie. Not your grandmother.”

“Thank God for that. Grandma’s been dead for fifteen years.”

“Would you please uncover your eyes and look at me so you can help me? I’m not sure I can be more nervous than I am right now and you’re not helping.”

Slowly I open my eyes, reminding myself that she’s my best friend. Not some puck bunny I bend over from time to time.

She’s Ella.

She’s my absolute best friend.

I knew her when she had no boobs.

But hell, does she have boobs now.

I glance at them as haphazardly as I can without looking like a perv.

Fuck me. They’re nice boobs too.

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