“Nope. Next.” He shoos me away with his hand, making me laugh some more.
“Oh, okay, fashionista.” I head back into the dressing room and strip out of the dress, a smile on my face. This just got a whole lot more interesting. I thought that dress was pretty, but now . . . now I’m invested in seeing what Halsey thinks is pretty.
I hang the polka-dotted dress back up and shift it to the “no” hook. Next, I try on a yellow tier ruffle dress with a scoop neckline. I have a feeling he’s not going to like this one either, but since I’m invested in his opinion now, I want to hear what he has to say.
I step out of the dressing room and in front of Halsey, who is already shaking his head.
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t like it when you pulled it and I don’t like it now.”
“I see. Is it the ruffles?”
“Yes. They do nothing for you.”
“Good to know.” I nod and then say, “I do want you to know that I’m my own woman, and I’ll be making this decision based on how I feel, but I appreciate your feedback.”
“Uh-huh, now try on something else.” He leans back on the couch and stretches his arms out along the top of the cushions, manspreading and making himself at home. I don’t want to admit it because the man is far too attractive for his own good, but God is he owning that couch . . .
Just like he owned you in front of your landlord.
No, don’t get started with that. The last thing I need is to start having thoughts other than friendship about Halsey.
I change into a blue velvet dress that he said was okay but I can do better. A black dress with a long slit that I witness him stare at for longer than I expected but he passed. And a rose dress that had an overlay of lace he claimed to look like a tablecloth his grandma owned.
Now I’m wearing my last pick, which is a short red dress with a halter neckline and a tulle skirt.
“No,” he says before I can fully step out of the dressing room.
I rest my hands on my hips and say, “You didn’t even give it a chance.”
“Because it’s not for you.” He nods toward the dressing room. “Try on the light-blue one I chose.”
“The flowy one?”
“Yes, the flowy one.”
“Don’t you think that one is a little much?” I ask.
“For you? No. Try it on.”
I don’t know why, but that response makes me blush.
I go back into the dressing room, strip out of the red dress—which in all honesty I didn’t like either—and take the light blue gown off the hanger. The fabric is incredibly lightweight, gauzy almost with a hint of a sparkle. I fit it over my body and curse inwardly because I can already see that the bodice was made for me with its structured boning and beautifully draped, off-the-shoulder sleeve. It has a Grecian feel about it with a high slit on the right that reaches my upper thigh. And because of the tight, low bodice, it lifts my breasts, but I can’t quite reach the zipper.
“Might need help with this one,” I say as I stare at myself in the mirror.
It’s so beautiful. I hate that he was right that I should have tried this on in the first place. I thought maybe it was going to be a touch too fancy but it’s not at all. It’s just perfect.
“Help with what?” Halsey asks.
“The zipper,” I say as I poke my head out past the curtain. He lifts from the couch and walks toward me. When he parts the curtain and steps into the dressing room with me, I catch the way his brows raise while a slow smile tips up his lips.
I beat him to it before he can even say anything. “I know . . . I know. You were right.”
He stays silent as he moves behind me. From the reflection in the mirror I watch as he dips his head and grips the tiny metal zipper while his other hand holds the bottom of the zipper. With one tug up, I’m all closed in. That’s when he looks into the mirror as well from over my shoulder, staring at me in the confined space of the dressing room. He wets his lips, his expression morphing from cocky to pleased. Those eyes rake over me like they’re an X-ray, able to see right through me, leaving me feeling exposed, raw . . . and beautiful at the same time.
He steps back after a second and scratches the side of his jaw. I turn around to face him and in the small confines of the dressing room, I hold out the dress and ask, “What do you think?”
