Page 60 of The Dragon 1
“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Me either.”
“What did you say?”
“Yes. Of course. I want to make sure we’re cool so you don’t have to be terrified here.”
“Thank you very much. I love being able to live without fear.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
“I’m dressing you for this date.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“Statement. I can’t trust you to dress yourself for something so important. Besides, I know what men like to see.”
I’d met Zo at eighteen years old while sitting in the green room of theGood Morning Americashow.
A trashcan sat in front of me.
I’d vomited in it twice.
The whole time, Zo sat across from me, holding a napkin to his nose and widening his eyes in fear. By the time I threw up for the last time, he gave up and asked me what the hell my problem was.
I’d confessed that I was nervous.
He looked me up and down and admitted that I should be worried to go out in front of cameras in the outfit that I’d chosen.
To say my anxiety left after his announcement was a huge lie.
However, he rescued me—rushing off to the show’s dressing rooms, convincing some stylist to loan him some pieces and dressing me in time to make my first national interview ever.
Of course, I was there to promote my book and knew that they all would want to know about my dad.
Zo had been there to do a segment on affordable fashions for spring.
We both did a good job.
I’d stayed after my questions to see how he did and thank him.
That night, we had dinner.
The next day, he took me shopping, transforming my new adult closet into a fashionista’s wet dream.
What would I ever do without him?
Zo’s words brought me back to reality and his small apartment. “Nyomi, I know what you need to wear so don’t fight me on this.”
“Okay. I’m not disagreeing. I’m just saying. I’ve been doing well since your fashion lessons in these past years.”
He pointed to my scratched-up army boots. “Is that what you call an example of what I’ve taught you?”
“What, my boots? They’re comfortable and hip.”
“You’re stuck in the 90s and you were barely alive long enough to be so into the style. I don’t get it.”
“Hey, I was a kid then—”
