His expression falls. “Jane—”
“Dex, face it. I’m just the frumpy girl who got thoroughly fucked because the guy she was with at a masquerade party thought he was with the pretty girl.”
“Don’t say that,” he whispers. “Don’t.”
“But it’s true.” I laugh, darkly. “Did you know that in the last—” I look up to the ceiling, giving a show of counting in my head, “eight years, you were the only man to give me an orgasm? Jesus, Dex, I never had sex anywhere but on a bed, and there we were in a photo booth in front of everyone.”
I can’t believe I just told him that. What the hell is happening to me?
His shoulders drop and his expression softens. “Then let me come with you to the club at least. So you’re safe,” he says, as he sweeps the hair from off my forehead and tucks it behind my ear. “I won’t hold you back at all or make you feel like you don’t belong there. I’ll just be there for you if you need me.”
Well, okay then.
Let’s do this.
Chapter 20
Fear grips my heart and panic throbs at my temples as I stand in front of my foggy bathroom mirror. On the other side of the bathroom door, there’s an uncomfortable silence as Julia and Nate wait for me to come out of my shower. I’m moving slower than usual, trying to talk myself into being able to pull this whole thing off.
My hair drips what feels like ice cubes down my spine, and I wrap a thick towel around myself and my hair, dreading having to face the audience of two who volunteered themselves to help me get ready for my night of debauchery.
I open the door and fight a blush as I pad past the both of them sitting quietly on my couch. Nate catches my eye but looks away immediately.
“I just need to dry my hair and then we’ll see about clothes…” I trail off, walking toward my bedroom. Julia smiles politely and Nate peeks up at me through his eyelashes. His head is still bent down and he’s pretending he’s being a gentleman and averting his attention. He isn’t. He’s watching my every move.
It makes me feel shyer than normal. I’m self-conscious about my body to begin with, and knowing Nate’s here watching me makes me a little nauseous.
Okay, a lot nauseous.
I grab a few of the outfits Julia brought over for me and laugh as soon as I see them. None of them are going to fit me. I can’t help wondering if she picked her tightest outfits just to make me feel worse about myself. Or is it to make herself feel better?
When I lock myself in my bedroom, I throw the clothes on my bed and stick my tongue out at them. Why did she say she wants to help me if she really doesn’t? Maybe she wants to see me fail at this miserably.
I dry my hair at my small vanity and instantly it frizzes, just like it always does. That’s why my hair is always in some sort of a messy bun or ponytail; I have no control of it, and it has a mind of its own and a weird personality.
So messy bun it is.
I rummage through my closet, pulling hanger after hanger to the side. There’s nothing here I can wear. I start from the beginning again and yank through each hanger.
Still nothing.
This is arguably the biggest night of my sexual awakening and all I have to wear is the outfit I wore for Aunt Mildred’s funeral. The black shift dress that swallows me whole and hides every curve, making me resemble a rectangle.
There’s a soft knock on the door and Julia calls out my name. “Do you need help? Do my clothes fit you?”
It’s like she wants to show the world how much thinner she is than me. It’s not like the average person walking down the street wouldn’t be able to tell my size twelve was nowhere near her size zero. Why does she have to keep on rubbing it in and reminding me? And seriously, why does she have to do it in front of Nate?
I open the door a crack and peek my nose through. “I’m still in my towel, and so far, it’s the most promising outfit I’ve got in here.”
She pushes the door open, knocking in right into my forehead, and walks inside. “Sorry, are you okay?” She says the words, but doesn’t even turn around to look at me toactuallymake sure my face is still in one piece. “I brought a ton of great stuff here. They’re all too big for me.”
I rub my temples.
“Julia, none of your clothes are going to fit me. You know that. I know that. Why do you keep pushing the button on this bomb?”
She sighs and looks through my closet the same way I just did, one hanger at a time. She too, decides the only thing I could possibly wear tonight is the funeral outfit.
“This looks hot, a little matronly, but we could dress it up with accessories.” She pulls it off the hanger and hands it me. “Go ahead and put it on and I’ll look through your jewelry.” She’s much too happy about the shitty dress. Why does she want me to fail at this?
