Page 22 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

I drop my suitcase on my bed and unzip the top, pulling out my clothes one by one.

“Winnie!” I hold up a silky pajama item. Judging by the lingerie, the skimpy swimsuits, and the sexy dresses she included, I can only guess what she thinks—or hopes—will happen between Cody and me this weekend. These are the risks you take when you let a hopeless romantic pack for you. Or maybe Tawny got ahold of her. Heaven knows she’s hoping for fireworks between me and Cody this weekend.

My best options for a casual Friday afternoon bike ride are a pair of wrap pants and a cropped white tank. Plus, I could use some good fortune, which is exactly what Farida, the street vendor in Bali, promised when I bought the batik wrap pants.

Who doesn’t like good fortune?

Or cute pants?

The bright-red geometric fabric looks like a cape for my butt as I use the floor-length mirror to expertly drape it around my legs.

Expertly?

This is my third attempt at magically turning the sheet of cloth into pants. Attention to detail was needed when Farida demonstrated how to wrap, pull, and tie, but I was so distracted, daydreaming about the good fortune coming my way, that I didn’t note the specifics.

I take the fabric in my right hand and fold it over my left hip, slipping the tie through the slit and around my waist. Then I gather the remaining vibrant cloth, pull it up my body, and fold and tuck some more. I’m like those moms who swaddle their babies into a burrito with a single blanket. Finishing off, I tie everything at my waist into a knot, then slowly lift my hands into the air, testing the design and effectiveness of my wrap job. Everything appears secure, but I use a double knot for good measure.

My leg twists as I examine how I look in the mirror. Every angle matters, so I turn, checking my butt from the other side.

Very flattering.

Farida, you genius! I can already see the good fortune.

Not that I care how I look. I mean, I do, but not for Cody. More like in case I’m photographed by paparazzi.

I grab a baseball hat and my sunglasses and head downstairs. The front door is open, and Cody is standing on the steps with both bikes behind him, ready to go. A backward baseball cap fits over his head, causing his dark hair to curl over his ears and the back of his neck in the best way. Combine all that dark hair with his short dark beard and piercing blue eyes, and you’ve got a whole lotta handsomeness.

His gaze pauses on me, and I wonder for a split second if he’s appraising me the same way I did him. Most men make it pretty clear every time they look at me what they think of my body or how I look, but Cody is different. When he glances at me, I see nothing but a perfectly masked expression. The girl inside me, the one that’s used to men drooling over my looks, feels disappointed by this. But that girl is not in charge here. In fact, she’s not in charge anywhere in my life. I fired her when I was twenty-two, right around the same time I realized being pretty wasn’t the only thing I wanted to be.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” I close the front door behind me. “Do you think there will be a lot of paparazzi out?”

He knocks the kickstand back and holds the bike out to me. “I don’t know. I haven’t been in this area before.”

“I brought these just in case.” I place the baseball hat over my hair and put my sunglasses on before taking the bike from him.

“Ah, yes. The lamest disguise ever.”

“That didn’t stop you from using it.”

“Nah”—his toe pushes the kickstand on the other bike—“this is for sun protection.”

“You don’t even have your hat facing the right way for sun protection.”

Cody gives me a knowing smile as we walk down the driveway. “Are you worried people might recognize you with me and think we’re dating?”

“No.” I shake his words off, but yes. Definitely yes. Hopefully, if paparazzi catch us together, Tawny can play it off as something to do with The Promised Prince. But I change the subject to avoid Cody’s probing stare. “So, how do you work these things?”

“It’s just like riding a bike.”

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes on him and his goofy smirk.

“What? Too vague?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, fine.” He points to the panel on the handlebars. “Push the plus sign whenever you want more power and the minus sign when you don’t.”

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