Page 86 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“I'm going to wear that blue dress,” I tried.
His hand paused for just a second on the protein powder. “The one where you taught me rugby with beer cans?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. You look good in that dress.”
Tell me not to wear it for him. Tell me to stay home. Tell me you want me.
But he didn't. He just started the blender, the noise effectively ending the conversation.
An hour later, I stood in front of my mirror, blue dress on, trying to feel something other than wrong. The dress looked good. I looked good. But all I could think about was Gryff admitting he'd noticed my thighs in this dress years ago.
I walked back to the living room where Gryff was now on the couch, Vincent and Holly in his lap, all three of them looking morose.
“How do I look?”
He looked up, and for a moment, his face was completely unguarded. Raw want flashed in his eyes before he shuttered it away.
“Perfect,” he said quietly. “Tyson's a lucky guy.”
I don't want Tyson to be lucky. I want you to tell me not to go.
“Thanks.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, so many unsaid things hanging in the air between us. Then my phone buzzed.
TYSON
On my way. Be there in a minute.
“He's coming,” I said unnecessarily.
“Great.”
“Yeah. Great.”
Neither of us moved. We just kept looking at each other like we were trying to memorize something we were about to lose.
A car honked outside.
“That's him,” I said.
“Have fun,” Gryff said, his voice hollow.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I left him sitting there with our goats, all of us looking lost.
Tyson was perfect, as always. He opened my door, complimented my dress, had already bought our tickets online so we wouldn't have to wait. He held my hand as we walked into the theater, and it was warm and nice and completely wrong.
His hand was too big. Too smooth. He didn't rub his thumb over my knuckles the way Gryff did. He didn't interlock our fingers properly.
“You want popcorn?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He ordered a large with butter, not knowing I preferred it with that weird cheese powder Gryff always made fun of me for. He got me a Coke, not the cherry one Gryff would have grabbed without asking. He chose seats in the middle of the theater, not the back corner where Gryff and I always sat so we could whisper without bothering people.
