Page 28 of The Prospect

“I’m sure I will.” I sink further into my pillow as she attempts to pull my closet door shut, though it refuses to close all the way.

“Ugh…when are you getting this thing fixed?” Hazel asks, struggling with it like I have for weeks. “And how did this even happen?” Finally, she gives up, speaking to me through the crack.

“Next week,” I answer the first part of her question, “and as for the cause of faultiness, I have no idea. I think I might’ve slammed it shut a little too hard? I don’t know. But don’t worry about it, it’s only a slither and you’re nearly done. Now, let’s see this final dress.”

Hazel peers back at me through the crack as I encourage her with a flick of my hands to keep going.

She caves, slumping her shoulders as she turns around and reaches for the next bag.

I look away, diverting my attention toward the memorabilia I’ve placed around my room. It’s minimal, mainly football-related, but now that I look at it, perhaps a nice art piece on the wall would look better instead? Enhance the space. I’ll ask Hazel, she’ll know?—

“Shit.” The sound of Hazel’s voice startles me as I sit up and peer back toward the closet.

“You okay, Haze?” I call out to her, anxiously waiting for her response.

“Yeah, I just…caught my skin as I was unzipping the dress. I’m okay, though…” she tells me, voice slightly weary. “I’m fine.”

I part my lips to respond, but suddenly I can't.

It feels wrong, but at this moment, through the slither of the door, I watch as Hazel steps out of the teacup dress in nothing but her bra and panties.

The set matches, with its baby pink undertone and lace that lines both the front and back.

Her skin is dimly lit in the faint light of the closet, yet it’s bright enough so that I can see the curvature of her torso, the outline of her cleavage, and the hollows of her collarbones as she brushes her long hair over her shoulder, and steps into the next dress.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to look away, only when I do, to feel an immediate urge to look back.

I fight it.

I have to.

I have no right to be looking at her like this. Sure, I’ve seen her in a swimming costume countless times before, but never have I seen her in such an intimate way.

It feels wrong.

It feels like I’ve just had privy to something that should have never been mine, yet the most conflicting feeling of all? This burning heat inside of me as images of her half-naked body flash through my mind on repeat. Images I never thought I’d see. Never thought I’d imagine. Never thought I’d like as much as I do right now…

“Green?” Hazel calls out my name, breaking me free from the escalating thoughts in my mind as I blink rapidly.

“Yeah, Haze?” I choke out, refusing to look back in that treacherous direction until she rushes out of the closet and demands my help.

“I need you to pull up the zipper,” she tells me, turning around quickly so that my eyes are drawn to the bare skin along her spine. She’s managed to pull it up halfway, but still, there’s so much more to go.

“Can you help me?” she requests, looking over her shoulder at me impatiently. “Please? I can’t reach it.”

“I uh…” She stares me down a moment longer before finally, I leap off my bed and make my way toward her. “Yeah…sure.”

She turns back around. “Just grab the zipper and pull it up. It’ll go, it’s just…my arms are too short.”

I step in close, brushing my hands through her hair that’s since fallen back before tucking it over her shoulder. It’s soft—delicate.I let go, releasing her hair as my fingertips brush down her spine in search of the zipper.

It’s a simple gesture, but one that for some reason, feels incredibly intimate. Eventually, I find it and suck in a breath as I grasp it between my fingers. With each inch I pull up, I feel a sense of warmth radiate from her skin onto mine, until I reach the backside of her bra and pause.

Fuck.

“Do you uh—mind?” I gesture toward the label that is impeding the zipper from making its way up.

“No, you can move it,” she responds, her voice soft like her skin as I tuck the label aside, only as I do, my hand momentarily grazes over the lace of her bra, forcing my throat to turn dry as I zip up the rest of the dress and pull my hands back.

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