Page 8 of It's Complicated

ISAAC

“No,”Jamie said the moment I opened my bedroom door, a shirt clutched in my hand.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Not happening.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me, but I could see his smile under it.

“A bet is a bet.” I waved the shirt at him.

“The bet was I’d wear whatever shirt you picked out tonight. That’s not a shirt.”

“It totally is.” I tried to hold it up by the shoulders to show him, but the material twisted into a tangled mess. “One sec.”

Jamie stood quietly as I unraveled the shirt.

The thing was similar to a leotard, only it didn’t have a built-in crotch in it. The shirt was covered in a mess of cutouts, so it kind of looked like fishnet but had a variety of other patterns on it instead of a uniform one. The cutouts were all different shapes and sizes, and the material was super stretchy, at least that’s what the online listing claimed, so it was tiny and looked like someone had taken a pair of scissors to it. I didn’t blame him for being skeptical.

“See, totally shirt-shaped.” I showed off the untangled top. “Ergo, it’s a shirt.”

“It’s tiny.”

“It’ll stretch. Hopefully,” I added. “I’ve got a backup in case it doesn’t.”

“Do I want to know what that one looks like?” He arched his eyebrow and gave me a pointed look.

“Probably not.”

The other shirt was in the same style, only it was way looser and tie-dyed, while this one was black. Both were ridiculous, but at least the black one wasn’t as in your face.

“I hate you.” He held out his hand.

“No, you don’t.” I gave it to him, then leaned against the doorframe as he held it up like it was made of snakes and not polyester.

“How the fuck does this even work?” He pulled on the sides to stretch them out. The thing was still insanely small, but at least now it sort of looked like it was shirt-shaped.

I shrugged. “Same as any other shirt. You pull it over your head, put your arms through the arm holes, and voilà.”

He shot me a flat look. “Thanks. I never would have figured that out on my own.”

“Happy to help.” I tossed him a cheesy grin. “Now hop to it. We’re late.”

“You realize I’m getting you back for this, right?”

“I expect nothing less.” I made a “hurry up” motion with my hand. “I’m waiting for the big reveal.”

“I’ll give you a big reveal,” he muttered, fumbling with the many strings and straps on the shirt as he tried to separate the front from the back to find a way to get it on.

Watching him struggle with it was half the fun, and I was bent over and laughing my ass off by the time he managed to work the thing over his head.

“I hate you,” he repeated, his face ensconced in a mess of strings and straps like he’d gotten caught in a giant black spider web.

“I’m dead,” I wheezed, holding my stomach as he tried to peel the pieces of the shirt down over his face.

“Either help me get this on, or you’re going out alone,” he said, his tone flat and unimpressed.

A snort of laughter tore out of me just as I got control of myself. He’d managed to get his arms into it, but the material was stuck around his elbows and biceps, trapping his arms so they were raised and stuck against his ears.

“Z.” He tried to use his arms to pull the shirt over his head but ended up looking like he was impersonating the top part of a corkscrew.

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