“Rene who?”
I giggle. “Caovilla. I had to glue the damn rhinestones on myself.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. “I still?—”
“Make them look like they cost a bag because you just make everything look expensive.”
A wild flutter rages out of that ball in my stomach.
“And the skirt?” he asks.
“I was supposed to get rid of all of my skirts and dresses my sophomore year at Lockwood because one of my professors complimented a strapless mini dress I had on. He did it in front ofNew York. After that, he made me pull every single dress and skirt out of my closet, hold them up for his disapproval and thenstuff them into trash bags to be put in the campus donation bin. I kept this one, though. I rolled it up and stuffed it down my sweatpants when he wasn’t looking.” I sputter out another giggle at the ridiculousness of it all. “I’d be damned if I threw out my first design from sophomore year.”
“You made that?”
“Yes!” I yelp, making the dog’s ears perk. “It took me four trips to Value Village to find three different pairs of Levi’s with the perfect contrasting hues and three weekends to sew this skirt. Everybody on the quad loved it. Do you know how many parties I missed working on this damn thing?”
I glance at the raw hem I preserved over the years by handwashing it, and the little details I only know about, like the off-white stitching around the zipper I had to resew because Terrica ripped it trying to model it in my dorm room.
“It turned out so much better than my sketches,” I mutter, closing my eyes and inhaling the fresh scent of rain.
“And you mean to tell me New York ain’t bend you over and fuck you in it for doing such a good job like I would have?”
My eyes pop open.
Now that was a fucking Rich question.
Abig,Rich question.
It was so big it made me shake my head and choke out a “no” while wetness pooled around my eyes and inside my panties.
“He hated it as soon as he laid eyes on it,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“Mhmm. I know,” he hums, reaching out and swiping at the wetness underneath my eye before holding his hand out. “C’mere. Come get out this rain before you get sick.”
I place my hand in his and let him pull me through the front door and close it.
Stepping inside his house doesn’t feel as strange as it should. Oddly enough, it feels like I’m coming home after days of being away in some strange place.
“You breathe today?” he asks, tugging me through the foyer.
“Uh-huh,” I mutter, threading my fingers between his and taking a big whiff of that scent floating off him.
I stare at our fingers together, admiring the way my soft brown complexion complements his deep one. Dried paint scrapes against my skin, making me hold his hand tighter.
“Now if Kenny come over here clowning because you hanging down here, you gon’ take up for me, right?”
His words sound like sweet little country keepsakes I can stuff in my pocket and pull out later to replay over and over again. I swing our hands in a lazy back-and-forth motion while I patter behind him, staring at his massive back.
I can get used to this view.
“You heard me, Slim?” he drawls.
“Uh-huh.”
“You ain’t heard nothing I said. C’mere.” He tugs me in front of him, sitting his hand at the nape of my back and pushing me in the direction he wants me to go.
