Page 64 of Dizzy

I sort through the bag, looking specifically for a dress I grabbed at the very last moment. It was on a rack of homecoming gowns. All I saw was a poofy, electric-blue skirt and rhinestones, and I snagged it.

“How about this?” I hold it to my front.

Dizzy raises an eyebrow.

I take off the sweater and skirt, fold them carefully, and set them on the bench at the foot of the bed. Goose bumps rise all over my body. I’m naked, and he’s staring.

My nipples stiffen to achy points. My pussy throbs. I really like him watching me.

He takes a sip of beer with his soft lips. I loved kissing him in the laundry room. I hope he kisses me again. To be honest, there’s not much I don’t love about him.

I lower the dress over my head. My hair’s a mess at this point, so many wisps and flyaways. The dress is slinky. Spaghetti straps. Plunging neckline. And so many sparkles. It hits me high on the thigh, and poofs out almost to my waist. It’s awful.

“Do you like it?” I smoosh my upper arms together, try to create some cleavage, and fail miserably. I do duck face to complete the effect.

“I hate it.”

“Well, I wanna keep it.”

I don’t know where this sass is coming from. Back home, you got what you got. If you decided to be a brat, you got slapped upside the head. I never bothered pouting. It didn’t help. If Mama didn’t have the money—and she never had the money—that was that.

I heard plenty of pouting once I got the job at the Gas-and-Go, that’s for sure.Fay-Lee, lend me five dollars. Fay-Lee, let me put ten bucks in the tank. Tell your boss you must’ve miscounted someone’s change.I never picked up the habit myself, though.

“You serious?” Dizzy asks.

“Yeah.” I smooth my hand down the sparkles. It’s the kind of fabric that feels flammable. Truthfully, it’s hideous, but it reminds me of Carol’s prom dress. She used to let us play dress-up with it before she traded it at a swap. It was the fanciest thing I’d ever worn. Well, until now.

He lifts a shoulder. “You ain’t gonna wear it outside of the house.”

“So says you.”

“So says me.” His lips curl. “Put it in the keep pile, then, if you like it.”

He can’t be serious. This dress is hideous. I wait a second, but he doesn’t say anything, so I put it with the sweater and skirt. I check the tag before I look through the next bag. Two hundred and forty-seven dollars. Holy crap. That’s way too much for a joke.

“You don’t look at the tags. I worry about that. Not you.”

Oh, I love this game.

He deserves a reward.

Even though my ass burns. Why aren’t I upset about that? I’m not. Not at all.

I really want to see what it looks like. I dig through two bags until I find what I want. I only bought one. They aren’t practical.

It’s a white lace thong. There’s a matching lace bra, too, with a tiny bow and a rose bud between the cups. I hold them up.

Dizzy grins, as happy as I’ve seen him. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

I pull on the bra and hook the clasps. Then I slip on the panties.

Dizzy swirls his index finger. I turn where I stand, pausing when I catch sight of my ass in the mirror above the dresser. It’s rosy red, especially against the white lace. I crane my neck. There are red fingerprints on the very tops of my thighs.

“You like what I did to you, baby?” His voice is low. Growly.

My belly swoops. Already, I’ve soaked the panties.

“Yeah.” I know it’s wrong. I’m not supposed to be proud of my red bottom. It doesn’t make sense. But that’s as close a word as I can think of to describe what I’m feeling.Proud.

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