Page 62 of Awaiting the Storm
Charli is rifling through my closet as if she were searching for buried treasure. “Okay, hear me out. What if you wear your dark-wash skinny jeans—the ones that fit like leggings—and that oversized sweater you bought at the boutique in town?”
“The one that falls off my shoulder?” I ask.
“That’s the one! I really like the color, and you can pair it with your dark brown boots.”
I hesitate. “Do you think it’s goodenough?”
She shrugs. “It’s pizza, not prom. Plus, it’s soft and sexy, but, like, unintentionally sexy,” she says, holding up the sweater she found on the top shelf of the closet, still in the bag.
I crack a smile. “All right, jeans and sweater it is.”
She plops down on the bed and watches me shimmy out of my lounge pants and into the jeans with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“It’s perfect. Rustic cowgirl. Minimal effort. Maximum effect.”
I roll my eyes but grab the boots from the closet floor.
Then, just when I think we’re done, Charli gets that look—the one that means she’s up to something.
“Wait,” she says, sliding off the bed, “before you put those on, we need to address the important part.”
“What’s that?”
She walks over to my dresser, opens the top drawer, and starts digging through it like a raccoon in a trash can.
“Charli …”
She holds up a plain cotton bra and makes a face. “Nope.”
“What are you doing?”
She slings aside half my lingerie until she triumphantly holds up a burgundy lace bra and panty set. “This,” she says, “is the one.”
I make a face. “No one is going to be seeing my underwear tonight.”
“Well, not with that attitude, they won’t,” she says as she tosses the set in my direction.
“Fine,” I say as I shrug on the sweater and remove the sports bra.
She softens, leaning against the dresser. “You don’t seem that excited.”
“I am,” I say quickly, then falter. “I’m just … nervous.”
Her brows lift. “You weren’t nervous last time.”
“Last time didn’t feel like a date,” I admit. “It wasn’t clearly defined. We were just sitting at a table, having a conversation, and then … everything happened.”
She gives me a pointed look. “You mean, when you ran off like a big baby and the sexy cowboy chased you down? Then you practically combusted in the parking lot before going home with him?”
I sigh and sit on the edge of the bed. “Yes, that.”
She flops beside me. “And now you’re worried. Why?”
“I’m worried because it feels different now. It’s been weeks. We haven’ttalked much except for business. And tonight’s not business. It’s … I don’t know. Real.”
Charli nods. “So, tell me what happened last time.”
I glance at her.
