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I blink a few times, my forehead wrinkling. What is he, a mind reader?
I roll onto my side and trace the duvet cover’s pattern with my fingertip. “Absolutely not. My outfit is already selected and hung carefully on the back of my door. I’m just chilling, actually.”
He suppresses a chuckle. “Oh, okay then. I was about to send some options over to you, but it sounds like that’s not necessary.”
I bolt up to a sitting position, rearranging the curls that fell over my eyes. “You were?”
“I was. But then, I remembered how much you like shopping. So, I called to see if you wanted to go together. My treat, of course. But since you’ve already foun—”
“I may have answered a bit prematurely,” I blurt. “I do have an outfit, but it wouldn’t hurt to look at some other options . . .”
A deep laugh resonates through the phone. “Pick you up in twenty?”
A flock of butterflies spirals through my belly. Wade is taking me shopping. But it’s not the “shopping” part that really sends them fluttering. It’s the “Wade” part. Okay, maybe it’s a bit of both, but I’ve been missing Wade like crazy since we last saw each other. While it was good to put some distance between us to set my mind straight, I’ve missed spending time with him. Even if it is all a sham, we’re having fun together.
I have just enough time to change into my favourite pair of skinny jeans and a dark-blue blouse, and I’m putting on my sneakers when Wade rings the doorbell. After answering it, I resist the urge to jump into his arms, instead pretending to have to tie my laces to avoid the awkwardness. But when I pop back up, he pulls me into a swift, clean-scented hug, and I melt into his arms. It’s fine. Wade and I are friends. I can do this.
During the car ride to Harrods, we talk mostly about tonight’s event and what I can expect. Apparently, it’s even more formal than I first thought, a limousine and red-carpet deal. While I’m (kind of) used to being photographed with Wade, the prospect makes my stomach drop. This body is not red-carpet ready. Not even close. Wade doesn’t know it, but with those two words, he just jump-started all my past insecurities. Hopefully, I’ll find something that can make me feel somewhat confident tonight.
We quickly arrive, and I discover that Harrods has a parking garage and even a valet service. Who knew?
“Are you sure about this?” I say as we pass through the golden front doors, my eyes glittering. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”
He shoots me a mischievous smile. “Do your worst.”
And I do. We browse every high-end brand corner, and I try on the most extravagant gowns on the rack. I never imagined they’d have them in my size, nor that I’d ever have the opportunity to try them on. Actually, I’m pretty sure I have Wade to thank for that. In one store, the shop assistant said the dress I was looking at was sold out until Wade joined me.
“How’s this one looking?” Wade asks from behind the curtains of the fitting room at Valentino’s.
“Tired yet? I thought you were an athlete,” I tease as I slide into the smooth fabric. But I get it. Even I’m tired, not to mention frustrated. This is probably the tenth dress I’ve tried on. I looked like a fat sausage in all the others.
“I run six miles on average during a game.” He pauses. “We’re barely at three. I think I’ll live.”
I peek through the curtain, glimpsing his side profile. “So, are you sure you’re okay? You took a nasty hit on Thursday.” We texted after the game, but I want to hear him say it out loud. “I thought for sure you were finished.”
“Not much faith in me, huh?” His tone is light and teasing.
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “You seemed like you were in a lot of pain.”
“I’m telling you, I’m right as rain. It hurts like the devil on impact, but then with the cold spray, the pain subsides pretty quickly, assuming it’s superficial. I’ve adjusted my training these last couple of days. I’ll be cautious for a few more, but it should be fine.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a bit more reassured. “I need to get myself some of that magic spray,” I joke. “Say, can you help me? I can’t quite zip this to the top.”
“Sure,” he says, his voice growing louder as he steps closer. The curtain slides open, and he enters the tight space with me. Glimpsing our reflections in the mirror, I realise just how sculpted and toned his body is next to mine. Even through his sweatshirt, I notice how much more defined his muscles are compared to your average joe. His fingers fumble with the zipper, and I shiver at the touch.
“Sorry,” he says, removing his hand. “Are my fingers cold?”
“No, you’re hot,” I blurt without thinking.
We both break into laughter.
“Now turn. Let me see properly,” he says, exiting the tight space.
I step out and stand in the middle aisle of the changing rooms, turning to face the three-sided mirror. Wade sidles up beside me.
The dress is simple but magnificent, featuring a one-shoulder neckline and a lace bodice. A slit over my left leg travels up to mid-thigh. I’ve never shown this much skin before. After all, I don’t exactly have model legs.
I stutter, “I don’t know abou—”
