I have the safe option that looks more like a dress for afternoon tea than clubbing. I was eighty percent sure that would be the one I’d end up wearing when I packed a bag for tonight. There’s the slightly sexy dress that makes my heart beat a little faster at the thought of showing that much skin. And then there is the dress I pulled out of the back of my closet that I haven’t worn since Vegas.
The reason I pulled it out…it’s Vipers’ green.
It’s short and fitted, low cut, and practically gives me palpitations. But it used to be my favorite, and everyone used to tell me how hot I looked in it. How the color suited me and was the perfect contrast to my strawberry blonde hair.
I stand there unsure.
Heartbroken and lost Freya wants the safe options.
But what does new Freya want? The version who has a job she loves, friends who support her, and a life she’s enjoying again?
My eyes are pulled toward the green dress as if they’re magnets drawn to the sparkles that cover it.
Can I?
With my heart in my throat, I rush for my cell.
Freya: What are you wearing?
I wait impatiently with my finger tapping on the side of my cell.
Casey reads the question fast, but she doesn’t respond straight away.
Still wearing only the towel, I lower my ass to the bed and open up another chat.
Freya: The bath in your guest room is INSANE. You may never get me to leave.
Assuming he’s busy getting ready for the game, I’m not expecting a response. I’m shocked when I immediately see the dots bouncing.
Cole: Can think of worse problems to have.
Cole: Are you all ready for your big night?
Freya: Kinda. Can’t decide what to wear. What about you? Are you ready to add another shutout game to your tally?
Cole: Love it when you talk dirty to me.
A girly giggle erupts the second his message appears on my screen.
Cole: Show me the dress options.
Freya: Don’t you have more important things to do than assist with my wardrobe crisis?
Cole: No.
I stare at my cell. At that single word.
He’s lying. He has to be. I glance at the time. The puck drop is less than two hours away. He can’t just be sitting around bored.
Aware that I’m possibly wasting his time, I hop to my feet and quickly video all three dresses hanging before me before sending it.
I chew on my lip as I wait for it to be read, my eyes locked on those little ticks. It’s not until they change color that I look up, and when I do, my heart drops into my feet.
I just filmed dresses hanging on mirrored doors while I’m standing in just a towel and sent it to my boss.
And he’s seen it.
Kill me.
