“It’s notthatbad,” I offered.
“Notthatbad?!” She slumped, making the dress tighten more around her boobs. “It looks like I’ve been vacuum-sealed into it by an angry TSA agent!”
She quickly turned on her heel and faced me. “Help me hold it while I put on double-sided tape.”
“Hold what?”
“Here.” She grabbed my hands and put them right on the front where creamy breast touched fabric. My fingers burned while I held it there. “Let me just get the tape.”
I carefully pinched the fabric. “This is a lot of trust.” Of not just the tape but me and my intentions which suddenly went from helpful best friend to guy who wanted to tug the dress down. What the hell was wrong with me? Was I just tired of not proving my point anymore?
“I’m screaming if you see nipple.”
“I would rather die.” The lie was easy, it was my body that was hard.
She bent towards the counter in an effort to grab the tape and that’s when all hell breaks loose.
Harper Avery—the girl who once negotiated a free coffee subscription by convincing a barista she was writing a travel piece on the place—burst into tears.
Real, gut wrenching, I just lost my dog and goldfish in one day—tears.
Mascara ran down her cheeks while her chin wobbled like she was about to let out a screech I’d never unhear.
I completely froze. Hands still on the dress.
“It’s—it is my boobs, you’re right,” she hiccups. “It’sthat time. I think I gained weight too though. Or maybe I’m just full of water or sin orstress, and this date with bachelor number one from the hell of my past is going to suck and my bra’s stabbing me in the side like it wants me to die for fashion and I don’t want to die, Ezra!”
She’s so fucking adorable I want to pull her into my arms, take her clothes off only to force her to put on a pair of sweats, and cuddle her on the couch. But I can’t say those things. I can’t do those things, not now, not when she’s in full on panic mode.
I took a deep breath. “I just need you,” I said, voice higher than usual. “To tell me if you want another cookie or if I’m supposed to remind you how pretty you are or if dumb ass bachelor number one needs to disappear, or take you somewhere else and build you a blanket fort and watch twelve hours ofGilmore Girls—I’m happy to inform him of your each and every need and remind him why he’d have zero chance in hell to fulfill it.” Did I say that last part out loud?
She snorted mid-sob.
“Wow. Emotional supportandhumor. Youarewife material. Where do I sign up? Oh just kidding you aren’t taking applications, you’re all full.”
If only she knew I had one space reserved—for her.
“Don’t let my spreadsheet hear you. She gets jealous.” I just had to crack a joke.
Slowly she lifted up on her toes and hugged me, my hands once trapped, fell between us until I gripped her by the waist and held her close. She smelled like tanning lotion and coconut. She ducked her face into the warmth of my neck. My lips parted. I had to tell her. Maybe it was better this way, Clark Kent didn’t have to be Superman, right?
“I just need this to work,” she mumbles into my chest. “Just one thing. One plan. One win.”
I nodded, deflated, I needed to remember I wasn’t the hero. With my arms around her though I sure as hell felt like it for a minute.
She had no idea I already said yes.
No idea I’m planning on becoming the lie she built because I couldn’t watch her fall apart without doingsomething.
No idea that standing here, holding her like this?
I’d burn the world down for the chance to do it again.
What was that bullshit about Clark Kent?
Bring on Superman.
Bring on Vex.