Page 96 of Shutout
Deft fingers run through the hanger hooks, passing through the color tabs with the sizes until he finds an M. “Here you go. I’ll wait for you outside the dressing rooms.”
“Ugh.”
I stomp through the store, equal parts annoyance and amusement swirling in my belly in the way only Brooklyn Tatum can create. At least the dressing rooms are spacious. There’s a bench where I can set my tea down while I get undressed, and hangers to put my clothes so they don’t drag all over the floor. I refuse to take off my boots, though, because the floor looks like it was cleaned last season if at all.
It’s a bit too drafty for my liking and I shiver once I’m down to my underwear, removing the hanger from the dress. This looks like something that would work well at a nightclubin some tropical city, not the thirty degrees we’re boasting this afternoon. But whatever, who am I to refuse a double dog dare.
But also, I’m curious.
See, this dress has a lot of see-through panels. After the way Brooke reacted the last time I wore something lacy, I wouldn’t have expected him to be interested in seeing me in this. I’ll happily pretend like this is some harmless little flirting, and not a prolonged goodbye where I have no idea how we stand.
I carefully step into the dress, making sure not to snag it with my boots because I don’t want to pay for it. For a tense moment, it refuses to come up past my hips and for once, they may be a blessing in disguise. But then the dress slides right up and I have no choice but to slide my arms into the straps. As I pull it up, though, I can tell my bra will be in full display if I don’t remove it. Unfortunately, it’s one of those comfortable ones in the shade of my skin and it has seen better days, so I take it off. After I pretzel myself, I manage to zip the dress up and look in the mirror.
“Damn.” My jaw hangs.
Brooke’s voice comes from right outside the flimsy door. “Oh, I gotta see it now.”
“Nope. You’re not seeing this.” I shake my head at myself. My assessment was right. This is a dress for a wild night out. Turns out the faux leather panels and trims hug places that have no right being highlighted—pun intended—during the day.
“I will tear the door off its hinges if I have to.” He says this in such a deep, low voice, it makes me shake with a violent shudder.
I rub my hands up and down my arms to smoothen down the goosebumps. We both know I’ll show him the dress. I know I’m dying to see his reaction. But I don’t have to act like I’m so willing.
Grumbling, I unlock the door and pull it open.
Brooke’s eyes bulge just like they did at O’Malley’s the night I dressed a tad bold. But this time he doesn’t throw a coat around my shoulders or something.
No, he slowly, very deliberately, takes in all the details. From the tight skirt that shows miles of leg through the mesh fabric, to the strategic cutouts around my torso, to the ultra tight top that enhances my otherwise modest chest. Finally, when his eyes lift to my face I know he can see the hot blush on my cheeks.
And it makes him smirk. The asshole.
He twirls a finger in the air. “Turn around.”
“Wait.” I run my hands down the back and what I feel is a lot of mesh, rather than faux leather. “I didn’t check the back but it feels awful cool. Like there’s not enough fabric.”
His eyebrows pop. “Oh yeah? I can confirm that.”
“No.” Especially because I’m wearing granny panties. “I’m changing and then we’re finding the actual dress we came here for.”
“Actually, I selected a couple options while you were in there.” He reaches to the side and brings up one. A chuckle comes out of him the second my eyes fall on it. “I double dog dare you.”
“Brooklyn.” His name comes out of my lips almost like a hiss.
This dress is the opposite. A pink ball of fluff with tiny hearts all over it. I feel like wearing this one even less than the yellow highlighter barf fest I’m currently in.
But I snag it anyway, and back into the dresser I go. He’s still giggling like a five year old as I slide one dress off, and the second one on. But then I realize something. The cotton candy atrocity is also going to short-circuit him. I don’t know if he grabbed it on purpose, but the dress is backless. And when Imean backless, I mean I have to hide my underwear because the back opening plunges that deep.
This time I open the door without warning. Brooke’s eyes twinkle more than the Christmas lights adorning the entire mall. From the front, the dress is all puffy sleeves and a puffy miniskirt. Nothing terrible, although I’ve never seen him look at my thighs with such attention. I almost stay still for a while longer.
But nah, I turn. He chokes in his own saliva.
I look at him over my shoulder. “Did you pick this dress knowing that like half of it is missing?”
“I h-had no idea.” He thumps his chest hard.
That time at O’Malley’s, he reacted in a similar way. His coughing fit only abated after he’d buttoned up my jean jacket.
My eyes narrow. I think I got it all wrong back then. Brooklyn doesn’t find me unattractive. It’s just shocking to him that I am. The second I realize this, my pulse skyrockets through the ceiling and all the way to the moon.
