“Exactly what I’m going for.”
I clap my hands and flop back down on the chaise. “Next!”
“Stop enjoying this so much,” she mumbles as she shuffles back into the dressing room.
Outfit number two is another skirt and top in matching olive green. She doesn’t like it, so neither do I.
Number three is a black dress with shoulder pads because they’re supposedly back in style, but I shake my head, and Jo agrees, pulling the zipper down before she’s even closed the door, accidentally gifting me a sneak peek of her back.
Never seen a sexier three inches of skin.
She won’t even show me outfit number four and hates number five because it’s a jumpsuit and apparently you can’t go to the bathroom without taking the whole thing off, but I think she looks hot in it and spend a few minutes trying to convince her. But she shuts the door, and I let my head drop back, wondering if she’ll find anything she likes.
A few minutes later, she steps out in what I can only assume is lingerie. She looks fuckhot in the dark blue minidress that clings to her, but she’s obviously uncomfortable, pulling at the delicate straps that hold up the few inches of material. I don’t know how it could possibly cost $595 to make it, but I’d pay it multiple times over.
Jo uselessly tugs at the hem that barely covers her ass. “It’s so small.”
“I think it fits perfectly.”
She glances at me then down at where her nipples are almost showing. “You’re such a boy.”
I deliberately readjust myself. Not because I’m hard—getting there—but I want her to know that she is desirable.
Idesire her.
“I really like this one,” I tell her, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.
“I can’t wear it around my family. I wear more to bed!”
“Let’s get it anyway.” I move to raise my hand to alert the saleswoman, but Jo lunges at me.
“Don’t you dare. We’re not getting this one.”
We’re, as inwe are, as in we are a team, and I like that Jo’s referring to us together.
I also like that she allows me to buy her things. She long ago stopped fighting me about buying her gifts and paying her bills, which is perfect practice for when I start paying for the real big things.
Like a house and a wedding and honeymoon in Santorini.
But first things first…we need a dress.
“This isn’t it,” she says and pivots around to once again change.
I swipe my hands over my face and check my watch. I’ve got to be at the arena in about three hours. If she doesn’t find something soon, I won’t be able to take her anywhere else today. I mean, sure, she could go on her own, but Jo’s sense of style is the same as a fourteen-year-old boy from 1995. Left to her own devices, she would show up in a long flannel button-down over her “nice” pair of jeans and call it a day.
Not that I’d care.
But for her confidence, sanity, and ego, I want her to find something she loves. Something that’ll make her feel good and will make all those motherfuckers in that backward-ass town lose their minds.
So when she steps back out of the dressing room in her next little number, my jaw drops. Because this isit.
“What do you think?” She spins in a timid circle, and I blow out a breath.
“Jo…” I stand, needing to get a better look. “You are stunning.”
“Yeah?” She bites into her bottom lip and checks herself out in the mirror.
I can’t help myself. The material appears too soft not totouch, and I step behind her, resting my hand on her waist. “What do you think of it? Do you like it?”
