Page 15 of Boyfriend Maintenance

She’s freaking gorgeous. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress with a denim jacket over it, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A wide brown belt sits high on her waist. The bottom of her dress is covered in flowers and her heels add a couple inches to her height, bringing the top of her head to my chin. She’s smiling at me as my eyes wander back to her face. Her hair is down today, barely past her shoulders and slightly curly, and I can’t help but wonder how soft it would feel with my face buried in her neck.

Damn, man. Get it together.

“Hey. I just got here myself.”

“Oh, good. Well, let’s get this over with.” She eyes the blazer I was looking at. Maybe I’m imagining it, but did she just cringe? Just as I’m about to ask, we are joined by a sales associate.

“Good morning, my name is Sasha. Is there anything I can help you with today?” I look to Emmy for an answer and she’s on it.

“Yes. We’ve got some pre-wedding events to attend and …”

The sales lady cuts in, “Say no more. I’m on it. What kind of events are we talking about?”

“An engagement party and shower.”

“Perfect. What are your sizes, sweetie, and I’ll go pull some outfits that I think would look fabulous on you.” She directs her question at me. I’m a little stunned but manage to mumble my answer. She scurries off in the direction she came from.

Next to me, Emmy chuckles and tugs my arm. “This is what she does. She works on commission. I don’t know the first thing about men's clothes, so let’s see what she finds and then we can go from there. Until then, let’s get you a dressing room.”

I follow her, weaving through racks and shelves of expensive-as-shit clothes.

No sooner do we find the dressing rooms, Sasha floats in with her arms full of clothes. “Here, let me get you started.” She veers into a tiny room and makes quick work of organizing what she picked out. Which is freaky fast if you ask me. Emmy doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“There you go, hon. I’ll be back with more. Let me know if you need any other sizes or colors.” And in a blink of an eye, she’s gone again.

I stand there, a little overwhelmed.

“Hey, Jake, you all right?”

I turn my head toward her and find her trying not to laugh. “I’m fine.”

“You look like you have no idea what to do. Have you ever been clothes shopping before?” She’s joking around, but I glare anyway.

“Why don’t you just go in there, try the outfits she picked out, then come out here and let me see it?”

Grumbling, I turn and walk into the dressing room. I slide the thick curtain closed and clip it to the waiting hook, creating a makeshift wall of privacy.

Surveying the clothes, I groan. I can tell by just looking at the selection I will hate it all.

“Some clothes look better on a person than on the hanger. Give it all a chance.” Stifling a groan, I take her advice and start on the first outfit. I hear Emmy move closer to the dressing room, the quiet of the fitting area is almost earie. There is no one else around and she starts to tell me more about herself. She tells me about her job and how she loves it, even though it causes some contention between her and her father since it’s technically a competing company. She also shares more about her brother, the one getting married. She seems a little sad when she explains that while they are close, they don’t see each other often, despite living in the same city. I can’t help but feel there is something she isn’t sharing with me. But I remind myself that I’m still a stranger, I don’t expect her entire life story. Least of all, not over clothes shopping.

After what feels like hours later, and despite pleasant conversation with a beautiful woman, I’m fucking grumpy. In reality, I know it hasn’t been hours. More like forty-five minutes, but Sasha keeps bringing shit that is, well … shit. It’s all bad. It’s all been crazy patterns, crazy fabric, or colors I can’t even pronounce.

While I’ve been in my own personal hell trying on hideous outfit after hideous outfit, Emmy seems to have been enjoying my discomfort. We’ve developed a routine. When I come out of the dressing room, one of two things happen: she either pretends to contemplate the outfit like it might be the best thing she’s seen yet, or she bursts out laughing.

I’ve just taken off the latest disaster when I see Sasha’s most recent attempt to find the best style for me.

“Oh hell no.”

“Whatever it is, please try it on, Jake,” Emmy begs, laughing from the sitting area in the middle of the dressing room area.

This whole thing has been easy for her. She’s sitting on a plush, white leather couch enjoying the show.

“No. I’ve had enough.”

“Please, it could be the one.” She’s pleading with me now. I don’t know why I even bother, but I do. Standing there in my socks and briefs, I take in the outfit. The matching plaid suit pants and jacket looks like someone lifted it straight from Sherlock Holmes’ wardrobe. I shake my head and grumble as I step into the pants and pull the shirt on. And that’s when I decide I can’t take any more of this.

“I’m done. This isn’t working.”

---