Framed shots of her friends too. A small little jewelry box. I want to pick everything up and ask her questions. Instead, I follow her to the closet.
She opens it and then whips out hanger after hanger of jeans and pants, and all at once I’m overwhelmed. Maybe there’s a reason I’ve never really participated in this pre-getting-ready thing before. How the hell am I supposed to choose what pants she should wear?
“Everything looks good on you,” I say, speaking the truth plainly.
“But I need to pick. My sister said something fun. That was the dress code.”
“Okay,” I say, scrubbing a hand across my beard, scanning for something fun.
But then I spot it—a short little skirt on a rod behind her. My neck blazes. “That,” I rasp out.
She grabs it, holds it at her waist. “This?”
Holy shit. It’s short and black, and I’m just dead. “Is that a trick question?”
“Why would that be a trick question?”
I flail my hands at it. “Becauseyes.That. Wear that,” I say, more emphatic than when I tell my teamlet’s fucking go.
She shakes her head, smiling, then shoos me out of her room. “I’d better get dressed then.”
It’s like it’s Christmas Eve as I wait for her to emerge.
A minute later she walks out wearing a sweater that reveals the most enticing amount of pale flesh at her collarbone that I just want to kiss and lick and bite. That skirt that makes my jaw come unhinged. The way I’ve wanted her before is nothing compared to how much I want her now. Those legs. Those long, toned legs. Muscular calves, strong thighs…
The whole way up to Corbin and Mabel’s bakery in Cozy Valley, I’m well aware this thing between us is all fake. I’m her fake date for this whole series of videos on her sister’s show about her wedding and all its countless, ridiculous, over-the-top events.
But every glance at the curve of Remy’s calves, every time her eyes meet mine, makes the word “fake” feel like a goddamn lie.
* * *
The look Corbin gives me when I walk into his bakery with a hand on Remy’s back is the definition of “I told you so.”
I shoot him a look that I hope saysshut the fuck up.
When Remy steps away from me to go say hi to Mabel, Corbin stares me down. “Dude.”
“Dude,” I reply.
“You look?—”
“What? Am I not allowed to take her on a date?”
“No, what the fuck happened to your head?”
“Oh, right, that.” I lift my hand to drag it through my hair, but there are only phantom locks there. “It was time for a change.”
“Damn, you were proud of that hair. Best flow in hockey, or some shit like that.”
“Aw, you keep up with me.”
“It’s hard not to when you brag about it all the time.”
“Don’t worry. I still look fucking awesome. Remy cut it,” I add.
Corbin smiles like he’s caught me red-handed. “So that’s how it goes.”
I shrug off the comment, like it’s no big deal since that’s easier than facing the bigness of the deal. “Yep. That’s how it goes,” I say, then survey the scene in the Afternoon Delight bakery. The camera crew is here. Remy’s sister stands in front of a mural of a fox and a llama sharing a cupcake, the whimsical scene a stark contrast to the intense look on her face as she talks with two other women—one with a tight bun. Both were at the picnic. Pretty sure one is from Fresh Face and the other works for Caroline. But as soon as Caroline spots her sister, she beelines over and hugs Remy.
