Page 30 of Better Than the Movies
“True.” He’d tossed in jeans, T-shirts, some supercute tops, some not-so-cute tops; the boy was definitely covering all of his bases. “But why so much white?”
He pushed the cart toward a huge rack of folded shirts and said, “People with red hair look good in white. Shouldn’t you know that?”
I just followed, trying not to smile at his confidence in his own fashion beliefs. “I missed that memo.”
He grabbed a handful of shirts and added them to our pile. “White and green, dude. Those are your go-to colors.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh.Dude.“Noted.”
He stopped manic-shopping for a second and smiled down at me, his eyes warm as they traveled over my face. It reminded me of the look Rhett gave Scarlett inGone with the Windwhen heattempted to tie her new bonnet for her. It was a look that admitted he knew nothing about what he was doing, and that he knew he looked foolish.
But he didn’t care because he was enjoying himself.
It was weird, but part of me thought that might be the case with Wes. Not that he like-liked me, but I felt like he enjoyed our verbal sparring. Honestly, I did too, when he wasn’t saying things that made me want to choke him out.
He reached out and grabbed a plaid flannel shirt from a rack. That wasn’t going to work for spring, but I didn’t say anything. I just tucked my hair behind my ears and let him finish. It didn’t escape my notice that our makeover-ish shopping trip wasexactlylike I’d imagined, but it was moreThe Ugly TruththanShe’s All That. It was so reminiscent of Mike taking Abby shopping that it was almost funny, only Wes wasn’t the leading man and I wasn’t falling for him.
“Think we should head to the fitting room?” he asked.
“Oh, praise the Lord, you’re finally done. Yes.”
He charged toward the fitting room, leaning his big body on the cart, and I was a little impressed by his focus. He hadn’t checked out anyone since we’d arrived at the store, and there were alotof girls in that place. Trendy girls that were just his type.
But he was all about the shopping.
“Liz?”
I glanced up and—holy shit—there was Joss, exiting a room. JOSS?Crap, crap, crap—what were the odds? What were the freaking odds? There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to hideWes, as she looked at me with confusion on her face.
“I thought you were working.” She walked over and glanced at Wes before saying, “A double, right?”
Shit.I felt like I’d been caught cheating, and I wanted to disappear.
But at the same time, I looked at her and realized I’d much rather be nonsense-shopping with Wes than dress shopping with her.
Because there were no ties with Wes, no connections to anything painful. Prom dress shopping, on the other hand, was layered in melancholic bindings that made me feel a world of things I didn’t want to feel.
First—there was the fact that by watching Joss and her mom shop for dresses together, I got to hyperfocus on the fact that my mom wasn’t there to shop with me. Next, the event we were buying themformade me dwell on the reality that my mother wouldn’t be there on prom night to help me get ready or take too many pictures.
And then, of course, there was the dress itself. My mother had been smitten with formalwear, and trying on dresses with her would’ve been a fashion show of epic proportions, complete with homemade lookbooks and jewelry pairings.
“I got off early.” I was a horrible person. I saw her glance into the heaping cart and I said, “And when I got home, Wes’s car was dead, so he asked if I could give him a ride to the mall. He’s buying a present for his mom.”
What was happening? It was alarming the way the lies were just pouring out of my mouth.
“I know how to speak, Buxbaum. Christ.” He gave me a look and then shook his head at Joss while my heart raced. He asked her, “You got any ideas on what to get my mom for her birthday? Liz has pulled a cart full of clothes, and I’m not convinced.”
“I’d trust her if I were you.” Joss draped the shirt she was holding over her arm and told him, “No one is as good at gifting as Liz.”
“Are you sure?” He gave me side-eye. “Because she’s wearing a kilt, Joss.”
She started laughing, and I felt like it might be okay. She said to Wes, “She’s got her interesting style thing, but it’s by choice. You’re good.”
“If you say so.”
She adjusted the shirt that was hanging over her arm and said, “Call me later, Liz. I want to do the dress thing tomorrow, and I swear to God I’m going to get for-real pissed if you ghost me again.”
“I won’t.”
