Page 54 of Not Safe For Work

“Sea lions.”

“No way. You can hear them from here?”

“Yep. Every night. I’m pretty used to it, but they’re also why I always have music playing.”

“I like your music. Keep it on.” He turns toward my bedroom—if you can call it that—and throws me an optimistic smile. “So? Where should we start?”

Hesitantly, I show him the current packing situation. All I’ve got so far is a couple pairs of sandals and thirteen different swimsuits on the bed.

“The Sonoma Seals?” Gavin holds up my speedo I still have from middle school swim team. I’m not sure it even fits, but it’s the most conservative suit I own. Not that my others are particularly scandalous, but when you have double d’s, everything looks overly revealing.

“It’s a work trip. I don’t want to wear anything inappropriate,” I argue.

“Thisis inappropriate.” He throws the suit back on the bed. “Which one of these is your favorite?”

“Well, it depends on where I’m going and who I’m with and what I’m?—”

“You’re going to the beach, alone, with your favorite book. Which one would you bring?”

I look through the selection, nibbling my cheek. There’s one that’s hot barbie pink. The top is a triangle style that ties in the middle instead of the back, with thick strings that create a large bow. It’s totally impractical and would give me horrible tan lines, which is why I’ve never worn it. But I’m also obsessed with the look.

“That one,” I say, pointing to it.

“Great.” He grabs the suit and tosses it into the open suitcase next to my bed. “And if you found out your parents were about to show up, which one would you want then?”

I laugh. His method is silly but extremely helpful. “The blue one.”

He tosses the blue suit into my bag, and I grab the rest to put back in my closet.

He follows the same instructions for a few more outfits, specifically asking for my most comfortable clothes for the travel days, and shoes that don’t hurt to walk in. Whenever I struggle between options, he’s cutthroat. The whole process of packing for a trip is something I dread, but it’s like he turned it into a game. The kind of game I can’t lose.

“The first night is dressy-casual,” he says looking at his phone. He pulled up the itinerary for me, so I don’t miss anything. “And the second night says cocktail attire. That’s the awards dinner.”

“That’s easy. I just need two dresses.” I step toward my dress rack and slide all the casual sundresses to one side so I can see the fancier ones.

“You really like fashion, huh?” Gavin is sliding his hands through each hanger to inspect all my garments. He’s currently in my favorite section with all the sparkly and colorful dresses.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I won’t bring those. I have some simpler ones.” I grab the black silk dress from the other night, but then I put it back. It will feel too weird wearing it after all of Tristan’s comments. I reach for another plain one instead. It’s navy blue, nothing special, but shouldn’t offend anyone either.

“Why? I like these,” he says, taking the navy dress out of my hand and hanging it back up. “What about this one? He grabs a pink strappy slip that’s covered in sequins and little feathers. It has this modern-day flapper appeal that initially caught my eye. It’s gorgeous.

But way too much.

“I don’t think I want to draw that much attention to myself.”

“Come on, Sparkles.” He does a little shimmy, shaking the dress so it glitters even more. “A diamond’s gotta shine.”

My suitcase is packedin record time and my anxiety seems to be packed away in it too. We don’t have work tomorrow and I have nothing to do except make it to the airport, so I ask Gavin if he wants to have a glass of wine.

“I actually have a couple bottles I picked up last weekend, if you want to try something from our vineyard.”

“That sounds great.”

“What jersey is that?” I ask, sort of abruptly while I grab the wine. I’ve been eyeing his baby blue and white striped tee since he got here, the color matching his hoodie I stole almost exactly.

“It’s a Messi jersey,” he says, turning around to show me the name on the back. I shrug, clueless to what he means. “Football. Soccer, I guess. He plays for Argentina.”

“Oh,” I say, realizing quickly it’s a shit response. “Oh, right. That’s where you’re from. Are you a big fan? I’ve never really followed soccer.”

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