Page 31 of The Perfect Love

“Yeah, yeah. Less talking, more letting me judge your outfit.”

“It’s a low-key date,” I huff, looking past the phone and at the mirror, not at all worried about how I look. Yeah, even I’m not buying that. In the couple of days we’ve known each other, it’s been a wild ride, and I want this date to be… not perfect. Right. I want it to be right.

That starts with my outfit.

“I like everything except the jeans. Try your ripped light wash ones instead.”

I look down at my body, then set my phone on the dresser and find the jeans she suggested. As soon as I’ve put them on, I realize she was right.

I’ve got on a simple gray Henley with a dark purple and charcoal checkered plaid flannel shirt over it, rolled up my forearms.

Do I know I look sexy as fuck with my muscular forearms on display? Yes.

Does Hyla tell me the only reason they’re jacked is because I have toservicemyself so much? Also yes.

She’s so supportive.

“Ah, so much better!” She claps her hands and says, “Shoes…”

“I’m thinking my gray mid-top sneakers.”

“Ooh, yes.”

I keep talking as I dig through the closet. “How are you doing? How’s yoga teaching going?”

“It’s fine. I’m okay.”

I stand up, shoes in hand, and stalk back to the phone. I grab it and pull it so it’s right up to my face. “When you say shit like that so quickly, I know you’re lying.”

I see the drop in her facade. It’s quick, but it’s there. Hyla’s never had it easy with her family, and these last few years have been particularly bad with her parents. Including her father, the state senator. I usually just refer to him as a prick.

Thankfully, Hyla’s moved into her own place away from them, but I worry she’s isolating herself too much. She also looks like she’s lost weight. The protective side of me wants to try to fix it all.

“Oh, look. Your mom’s here and she wants to see your date outfit.”

“Hy—”

Then my mom’s face fills the screen. Whatever. I’m not letting this thing with Hyla go. She won the battle, not the war.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hey, Mom.” I pull the phone back so she can see.

“Oh my gosh, you look so handsome.”

“You sound like I’m your little five-year-old headed off to kindergarten.”

“Because in my mind you still are. But fine, do I need to use a more hip term? That outfit is on fleek. No, snatched. Oh, that outfit ate—”

“Mom, stop. Please. I’m begging you. You’re not even using it right.” Hyla is behind her, laughing at my pain. “I blame you for this,” I call.

Mom laughs, and it’s hard to hold on to any frustration when I hear that sound. That laugh kept me going through some of our darkest moments.

“Sorry, honey. I had to. But you look great. I hope you have a wonderful time with Chelsea.”

Hyla steps up next to her. “Did I tell you I came up with a ship name?”

“No,” I grumble.

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