Page 178 of Knot Baked Out For This
The green dress goes on surprisingly easily, sliding over my curves like it was made for them. The bodice hugs everything it should, the skirt falls perfectly, and when I look in the mirror?—
Oh.
I look like the woman who wore purple dresses to parties. The one who owned her curves instead of hiding them. The one who existed before Korrin convinced her she was too much.
"How's it going in there?" Reverie calls.
"Fine!" I call back, reaching for the zipper.
Which doesn't move.
I try again.
Nothing.
No. Not happening. Not today, Satan.
I twist, contort, try to reach it from different angles, but the zipper is stuck halfway up my back, leaving me trapped in vintage fabric like some kind of fashionable sausage casing.
"Um... I need help!"
"What kind of help?" Reverie asks.
"The zipper kind!"
"I've got it," Luca's voice, closer than expected.
The curtain shifts, and then he's in the tiny stall with me, taking up all the space and air and rational thought.
"Turn around," he says, voice low.
I turn, hyperaware of everything—the mirror showing both of us, his hands on the zipper, the way his breath hits the back of my neck.
"It's stuck," I state the obvious.
"I can see that." His fingers work the zipper, knuckles brushing my spine. "Hold still."
Hold still. Like I could move with him this close, smelling like gingerbread and leather and making my brain short-circuit.
"What's happening?" Levi's voice, then he's pushing into the stall too, because boundaries are apparently just suggestions.
"Zipper issue," Luca explains, still working.
"Let me see." Levi crowds closer, and now I'm sandwiched between two Alphas in a space barely big enough for one person.
"This is a fire hazard," I squeak.
"Good thing Rowan's not here," Levi says cheerfully, then to Luca: "Pull it down first, then up."
"I know how zippers work."
"Do you though?"
"Better than you know how ovens work."
"That's not a high bar."
They're bickering over my head while Luca's hands work the zipper, and Levi's pressed against my side, and the mirror is showing me exactly how wrecked I look—face flushed, eyes dark, lips parted.
