Page 18 of Bad Habit
Only harlots remove hair from their bodies.
Mother’s voice rang in my head. Only a harlot would bare her shoulders, knees, and ankles, too, and I was considering breakingthoserules. Still, I had limits.
“Okay. We’ll circle back to the legs.” Sister Henry looked down. “At least you’re blond. We can work with that.”
“I’ve got a pair of black tights.”
“That won’t work.” Sister Henry wrinkled her nose. “But maybe we can find some stockings if you won’t do bare legs.”
“Yes. Stockings.” I wasn’t entirely sure what stockings were, but if they covered the skin on my legs, I’d be happy. It was bad enough my arms weren’t covered. I raised my hand to my throat, circling the small indentation at its base, unused to exposure.
I thought of Mac, shirtless on the basketball court the first time I’d seen him.
I’d barely looked but had seen so much skin.
I ran my hand down my exposed arm, shivering at my own touch. Mac’s body seemed so hard, so strong, so different from mine. Would his skin feel different, too? Surely the housing for a male body must feel different than a female’s. His palms had felt slightly rough against my hands when he’d helped me with the basketball. How would his touch feel on my exposed throat? My arms? The back of my neck?
“What are you thinking about?” Sister Henry’s voice pulled me from my lustful thoughts.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’ll finish trying on the dresses.” I reached for the curtain, but she caught my wrist.
“I think this baby-blue crushed velvet is a winner.” She grinned. “It matches your eyes.”
I nodded, excitement and fear stirring my belly. I’d found a dress. This was getting way too real.
