Page 23 of Claiming What Is Mine

Gabe recoils as if he’d been hit by Mike Tyson. “Come on now. You’d punch a man in my condition?”

“Your condition? Isn’t it funny how your condition only flares up when it’s convenient for you?” I roll my eyes. “Give me a few minutes to change and do something with my hair, okay?”

Gabe leans back in his chair, pleased with his victory. “Take your time, Doll.”

* * *

The fitting roomattendant eyes the mound of clothing draped over my arm. “How many items you got?” She asks because she’s supposed to. I really don’t think she could care less.

“Umm…” I jostle the bundle and try to count hangars. “Seven?” There’s more like seven pounds of clothing in my arms, but the woman waves me past without missing a beat. I turn back to find Gabe lowering himself into a plush armchair.

“I want pictures.” He lifts an eyebrow and I fight a blush as I duck down the hallway, avoiding eye contact with the attendant.

The day has been good. Like, way better than I expected it to be. Gabe still knows exactly what to say to make me laugh. I haven’t seen the man in almost twenty years, but it’s like no time has passed at all. Like he’s still the most important thing in my life and I’m still the most important thing in his.

I make a sound, half laugh, half sigh, as I hang my clothes on a hook in the changing room. History would argue that I never was the most important thing in his life, or else he would have listened to me way back when. Whatever. That was then, and this is now, and I agreed to cut the man some slack.

I dig through the clothes, in search of the sundress Gabe picked out. It’s simple, but beautiful. He always did know exactly what I’d like. As I slip off my shoes, my phone buzzes with a text.

Gabe: cough cough pictures cough cough

I giggle as I tap out a reply. Me: yeah, yeah. I hear ya.

My gaze darts to my reflection as I undress. In this lighting, with this mirror, I don’t look half-bad.I slip the sundress off the hangar and pull it on, then stand in the small room laughing at what I see in the mirror. I grab my phone and snap a shot.

Me: Something’s not right…I attach the picture of me in a dress that must be three sizes too big. The thing hangs like a sack off my torso. One of the straps won’t stay on my shoulders, exposing the top of my bra and the swell of my breast.

My phone vibrates.

Gabe: Sold. I love it. Just try one thing, would ya? For me.

Me: What’s up?

Gabe: Slide the other strap off.

I do as he asked, and the dress slides down, held up only by my chest, and barely at that. I can almost hear him chuckling in the waiting room as I step out of it. I glimpse myself in the mirror and on a whim, snap a picture of me in my bra and panties. Am I really about to send an almost naughty picture of myself to him? What has gotten in to me? Before I think better of it, I hit send.

Me: Done.

An eternity passes while I wait for his response and I pull up the pic and zoom in. What have I done? I mean, for one, we’re on what? Day one of dating? Except this is Gabe, so that’s not exactly true. But for two? I’m not a girl anymore and I don’t have the kind of body that deserves to be ogled through pictures on the internet. I can take it back, right? Please God, tell me I can take it back. I just about jump out of my skin when my phone buzzes again.

Gabe: More.

Me: I haven’t put on the next outfit yet.

Gabe: Thank God.

Gabe: Clothes be damned.

Gabe: I want more

Gabe: OF YOU

A tinge of excitement settles into my belly as I read his words. If the man wants more, I’ll give him more. I slide my bra strap off my shoulder and push my breasts up, then snap a picture. Before I can think better of it, I hit send. My phone buzzes.

Gabe: MORE

I turn and look over my shoulder, make my best porn-star-surprised-by-her-own-ass face, snap a picture, and hit send.

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