Page 92 of Even Beneath the Stars

She huffs. “I still hate you right now.” Then throws the scrunchie at my head.

I catch it and toss it back. "Alright. Show me what you got." I brace myself. Yeah, I'm a little nervous. But like I said, I don't embarrass easily.

Her eyes light up with unholy glee. "Oh, Xavier Rockwell…" She stretches out my name. "I have the perfect ensemble for you."

I narrow my eyes. "If you got me lobster pants—"

"I tried!" Maggie gasps, wheezing through her laughter. "I searched every rack. I was willing to blow my entire budget!"

"But?"

She sighs dramatically, then pulls outsomething worse.

JesusChrist.

The pants she’s holding up are salmon-colored pleated chinos.The kind that say 'I summer in Nantucket and name my boats after my ex-wives.'

I swallow hard. "Those are… something."

"Aren’t they, though?" She beams, giving them a shake. "I saw them and thought, ‘Now these just scream Xavier Rockwell.’"

"I’ll bet."

Then she pulls out the peach polo. Embroidered with a tiny silver anchor.

"Oh, wow." I stare at it like it might be cursed. "That’s horrible."

Right?" Maggie’s practically vibrating.

"The preppy trifecta," she announces, producing a pair of leather boat shoes that probably belonged to someone's grandfather. She sighs dreamily. "It'll be like you just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren catalog." Then adds, "But like, the reject pile they wouldn't actually publish."

I can't help laughing, even as I accept my fate. "So, basically, you want me to dress exactly how youassumedI dressed when we first met?"

"Karma’s a bitch, Rockwell."

I shake my head, still grinning. "Or…you've got some weird Nantucket cardigan kink and you're lusting to see me rock my inner tennis-dad."

Maggie loses it, laughing so hard she doubles over. "Oh, Xave… nothing turns me on more than a guy in a well-fitted cable-knit sweater."

I smirk. "Not as much as I get turned on by a fit girl in a ‘Hot Girl Energy’ crop top."

"So, win-win for both of us, then."

Looking at her, pink hair wild, eyes bright with laughter, I realize I'm grinning for real. "Yeah.Definitely win-win."

Our eyes lock for a second and something passes between us that neither of us is willing to examine too closely right now. Instead, we both change into our paid-for outfits, then exit the changing rooms at the same time after a countdown.

The two of us burst into laughter at first sight. We look like a couple of goons. Okay—Maggie still looks hot as shit. Ridiculous, but stunning.

I just look like a total douche.

Maggie makes us drive to the Welsford Country Club for my photo shoot. Because, of course she does.

She forces me to lounge in a plaid wing-back chair, holding a tennis racket like I own the damn club. Looking so smarmy, I want to kick my own ass.

Seriously. I look like the kind of guy who uses the word 'summer' as a verb.

Then she adds a sticker to the post:Serving aces on and off the court.

---