Page 21 of Wrong Car, Wright Guy
“Where else am I supposed to look?” I snap, all of a sudden finding my wits. Seems I have two settings where Tanner is concerned—lustful or indignant. There is no in between.
“You could always go into the bathroom and start getting ready yourself.” He’s buttoning up his shirt by this point, so I’m able to think a little more clearly.
“Wait. What am I wearing?”
“The dress I had sent over for you,” he says, his voice becoming clipped. Seems Tanner has two settings when it comes to me too—playful and bossy. “Get the hell in there and get ready. Car’s here in twenty minutes, and I won’t be waiting for you.”
“Whoa. OK, Sir Grumps-a-lot.” I give him a salute before I head toward the tiny adjoining bathroom with a curious frown. I don’t think I’veeverhad a man choose an outfit for me before—not even my gay brother or his drag queen boyfriend. They tried, oh lawd have they tried, but my wardrobe choices have always been my own since I’m a bit of a control freak. So, this is really pushing me out of my comfort zone. I even have sweat forming on my brow as I pull the garment bag open to look at what’s inside. I mean, what if it doesn’t fit me? I’m no petite little flower who can wear absolutely anything I desire. No. Most outfits take many rounds of hunting and trying on before I find something that fits my body type.
So, imagine my surprise when I find a sleek looking black dress hanging on the back of the door, and a bag from Saks containing a shoebox, makeup and a hair straightener. “What the hell?”
I check the label on the dress. Adam Lippes. A fancy pants designer who makes plus-size clothes to drool over. “Holy hell.” The tag describes the dress as a ‘Scoop Neck Flare Dress’. And I think it’s the classiest—most expensive—piece of material I’ve ever put my hands on. What’s even more amazing is that the size is…perfect.
Working quickly due to my time constraints, I pull my shirt off and wriggle out of my pants, quickly washing my armpits so I don’t smell like sweaty nerves. Then I drop the dress over my head and sigh as the ultra-soft fabric cascades over my skin. “Oh, wow.”
I’m not sure if Tanner is actually a sweetheart underneath all his bluster, or if he’s just a master manipulator. But somehow, exactly when I thought I couldn’t take being around him anymore, he’s managed to make me do a complete one-eighty. Over a dress.
Correction: over aperfectdress.
I haveneverworn a dress this beautiful. It’s sexy without being revealing with a scoop neck that only shows the slightest hint of cleavage, and a skirt that flares out and finishes at my mid-calf, brushing against my bare legs like a lover’s caress every time I move. I love it. And if you asked me how I feel about Tanner right now, I’d tell you he’s amazing and thoughtful—until he opens his mouth and changes my opinion again, of course.
“I’m in love, I’m in love, and I don’t care who knows it,” I say of the dress, moving so the skirt swishes back and forth as I reach behind myself to pull—well,wrestle—the zip up. My flexibility isn’t on my side, and try as I might, I can only get the zip halfway up.
“Shit.” Maybe the size isn’t so perfect after all. And doubleshit.I’m going to have to be an embarrassing cliché by asking the hot guy in the other room to fix it for me while hoping he doesn’t notice my back rolls. “Oh, god, no,” I mutter, willing my arms to stretch a little further as I suck in my breath and try to do it myself. “Please, please, please.” I tip off balance and bump into the back of the door. It’s no use.
“You all right in there?” Tanner asks from the other side.
“Ah, yeah. Just peachy,” I say, completely out of breath and flustered.
“Fifteen minutes.”
“OK.” I take a calming inhale, deciding I’ll have to finish getting ready then get him to help me with the zip when I’m done. Digging through the bag, I pull out the makeup, swiping some concealer under my eyes, a touch of eye shadow, mascara and a matte lipstick that is the perfect shade of red for my skin tone.How the hell?I look at the tube, wondering how Tanner knows any of this fashion stuff before I drop the tube in a little clutch I found inside the shoe box.
“Five minutes.”
“Jesus,” I mutter again, looking in the mirror and pulling my hair from the messy bun I’ve worn all day. I run my fingers through the blonde strands and fluff it out so I look somewhat styled. There’s no time for that straightener, so this will have to do.
With one last look at myself in the mirror, I smile. I don’t often look at myself and think of the word ‘beautiful’ but today, it fits. I look beautiful.
“Ready-ish,” I say, stepping out of the bathroom and doing a little pose, because I’m a girl and we do these sorts of things.
“Ish?” he asks, his eyes traveling down my body then back up again. “What am I missing?” I kind of hoped for a more positive reaction than that—perhaps a low whistle—but a little appreciative eye raking is going to have to do.
“Well, the zip got a little stuck.” I pull my hair to the side and turn around to show him.
“Oh, really?” He chuckles like he thinks I’ve done this on purpose.
“Yes, really,” I say. “It’s either a little too tight, or I’m a little too big. Not sure which one.” I give him a wry smile before I turn away and let my embarrassment bloom. It’s one thing to be a big girl and be OK with your body. It’s another thing to be standing in front of your gorgeous, buff-as-fuck boss with your back fat showing. I feel…vulnerable. And if that zip can’t make it all the way up, I actually might die. But at least I’ll have a pretty funeral dress this time, as opposed to the closed casket/open mouth issue I had the last time I thought Tanner Wright would cause me to drop dead.
“It’s not you,” Tanner says as he tries to shift the zipper himself. “It’s caught.”
“Oh god, that’s such a relief.”
“As long as I can fix it,” he says, leaning in to inspect it more closely. I shudder as the heat of his breath flows across my bare skin.And…there go my nipples again. I’m going to need some industrial strength bra padding if this keeps up.
“Hold still,” he says, just as I feel a gentle pull at the back of my dress, then a wash of warmth and his…histongue?
Wait. What?
