Page 27 of The Wingman

“I don’t know. It’s really bright. I wear a lot of gray and white and black.” I shrug at her. “You know, easy colors.”

Loud, I hear him say. Like seeking attention or standing out is a bad thing.

I look down at the tan dress clutched in my hand—something I grabbed because I can wear it to work. It’s boring, and it inspires nothing inside me.

When I look at the dress Georgia’s holding up, though, something sparks in my chest. That’s a dress that a really fun, confident woman would wear—a woman like Georgia.

“Please?” Georgia asks in a pleading voice, giving me innocent doe eyes.

My mouth twists into an amused smile. “Are you manipulating me?”

“It’s only manipulation if it works.” She puts the dress back on the rack with a shrug. “Besides, you just got out of a relationship, right?”

My muscles tense. “Did Hayden tell you that?”

“No, but he used to say ‘my friends Darcy and Kit,’ and now he just says ‘my friend Darcy.’ And you two are living together, so…” She shrugs, studies a jacket, glances at me, and brings it with her.

“So I have to wear the dress that the ’70s threw up on because I just broke up with my boyfriend?” I ask with a smile.

Georgia nods with enthusiasm. “Yes. Thank you. You get it. This is the start of a new phase of your life. You moved cities, and you’re single now. Why not buy a new dress? Get a new haircut. Sign up for a running club and then only go to the first session because the people are too hardcore. Get your nails done in gold glitter and then be stuck with them for three weeks.”

Kit wouldlovethe tan dress.

What do I want, though? My brain prickles. What kind of colors do I like to wear?

“This is the perfect time to reinvent yourself, Darcy. Madonna reinvents herself every decade, and if you shit on herRay of Lightera, we’re no longer friends.”

“I would never.” I chuckle.

“Good. You know, when I’m having a totally shit day and I start to feel down, I just look at my shoes and I think,oh yeah, I’m Dr. Georgia fucking Greene.” She grins. “Confidence comes from within, but it’s okay to jump-start it with something external.”

Oh god—there’s that feeling rising inside me again, like I’m going to say something weird. Like when I said that stupid stuff about the guy at the bar not smelling right.

“When I was a kid, I had a mermaid doll with purple hair,” I blurt out. “And I thought it was so pretty,” I add, trailing off, feeling weird, like I just tripped in public or something.

Instead of laughing, her eyes illuminate. “You would look amazing with purple hair.”

“Like a pale lavender,” I elaborate.

She nods harder, gaze fixed on me but slightly unfocused, like she’s imagining it. “Totally. It would look lovely with your green eyes.”

I picture my hair in soft-purple tones, all loose around my shoulders like something out of a fairy tale.

Isn’t that kind of unprofessional?Kit asked about my purple hair idea.

Hair’s a big step and a lot of commitment, but a dress? My gaze slides to the bold dress that Georgia put back on the rack.

A player dresses with confidence and style.

I grab the dress, and Georgia yelps with excitement, clapping her hands.

Half an hour later, I have a decent selection of items in my “yes” pile.

“I haven’t seen the dress with the flowers yet,”Georgia calls.

Behind the curtain, I stand in my bra and underwear, staring at the dress on the hanger.

I’ve been avoiding it. I’m not sure why. It’s a chaotic mess of soft pink and melon orange and pastel purple, with shards of teal.

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