Page 62 of Courting Clemson

But before I took a step like that, I had to come clean about Brian. There was a solid amount of anxiety about that, and I prayed it wasn’t going to destroy our relationship. The reasonable side of my brain had me convinced he would understand the means justified the ends, but the more emotional half of my noggin spun me up in near panic that I would lose everything we’d built over the past months. I wasn’t ready to risk that, so I kept on the same path I’d been on.

Grace excitedly burst through the front door with a big box in her arms. “Guess who this is for?” she asked in a sing-song voice.

“You?” I teased, having gotten a little too used to stuff showing up on our doorstep from my sugar daddy. Eeewww, I really despised that terminology. It made me feel gross, and I avoided using it at all costs.

She gave an impressive eye roll and dropped the box with a thud on the table where I was doing homework. When I didn’t leap out of my chair to open the thing, she huffed out a loud sigh and stared at me.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Yes, but I want to finish this assignment first.”

“Oh my God, you’re impossible!”

I loved her enthusiasm, but I really didn’t need the distraction at the moment. My grades were my first priority these days, just like I vowed they would be. No matter how many beautiful things were sent to my house, or how many amazing experiences I had been afforded because of this guy, school came first.

“He must need you for a date,” Grace said, tapping on the box. “That’s when these things show up.”

I sighed and looked up at her again. She wasn’t going to stop until she saw what was inside, so I gave in to satisfy her curiosity.

“He did mention a holiday gala or something like that,” I said, adding to her excitement.

She was about to say something until I stood to get the little box cutter we kept in the kitchen junk drawer. The brat knew she got her way, judging by the triumphant smile plastered across her face.

“Do you want to do the honors?” I asked, offering her the knife.

“No, it’s for you. You should open it. Are you getting bored by this glamorous life?” she asked, watching me carefully open the package.

“Not at all. I’m just trying to stay focused on school until after finals. I will never put myself in this predicament again. Ever.” I motioned to the box that represented the entire sugar-dating situation.

Inside the cardboard cube and tons of tissue paper was another rectangular box. It was a shiny, sturdy, white cardboard with a wide red satin bow. I recognized the name of the shop from other things he had sent in the past and knew immediately it would be a dress of some sort. I wasn’t sure if he picked these things out or if Lindsay did the shopping as well as scheduling, but someone had exquisite taste. They also nailed the fit every single time. I hadn’t visited a tailor yet and didn’t suspect I would have to with this piece either.

I pulled the ribbon to unknot the bow, and the satin material pooled on the table around the box. Grace was leaning over the surprise so closely, her head was blocking my view, and I nearly smacked her in the face when I lifted the lid off.

“Oh, sorry,” she said and backed up a bit.

“You’re adorable. You know that?”

“I’m not going to lie, Clem. I’ve been living vicariously through you on this journey.”

The dress was breathtaking. Well, the fashion masterpiece could only rightfully be called a gown. It was a dark-forest green with crisscrossing straps at the neckline.

“Oh, shit,” my roommate gasped. “That is gorgeous.” She reached for the dress, and I let her have it. She held it up to her body, and it unfurled to the ground.

“Are there shoes in there?” she asked, stretching her neck toward the open box. It wouldn’t be the first time a complete ensemble arrived. I dug through the tissue paper in the big box and found a smaller box that contained a pair of metallic heels that were, of course, in my exact size.

“Definitely going to have to practice in these babies,” I said, eyeballing the heels. I was a sneakers-and-Uggs girl, and those shoes looked like the Italian equivalent of size-nine torture devices.

“Your body in this dress, and your legs in those shoes…” my mini hype team of one commented while pointing at each article. “He’s not going to know what hit him.”

“You’re the best friend, you know that?”

She stopped shuffling about and stared at me. “I love you like a sister.”

“I love you too,” I said, and we hugged with the gown and shoes crunched between us. Quickly we separated, though, so as not to wrinkle the delicate fabric.

“Let me hang this up so it doesn’t get messed up,” I said and reached for the dress she still held.

“You’re not going to try it on?” she asked, almost alarmed.

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