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“I—” She opened her mouth, then closed it again. He’d hardly so much as flicked a glance her way, and apparently that was enough to find her lacking?
If she were in her right mind, she would spin on her heel and leave. Logically, what he said didn't matter—the only thing that mattered was maintaining her ever-dwindling supply of dignity.
But, even with her goodbye on the tip of her tongue, her brain stammered on his words and she started spluttering. "Logan, I— Wait, what did you say?"
He glanced up at her, though he still slouched lazily against his car. “I tried to get one of the makeup girls from one of the magazines to come along and help you, but apparently she can’t be bothered.”
“She’s probably still bothered about the fact you never called her back.”
“How did you—?” He slid his phone into his back pocket.
She rolled her eyes. “You never call them back.”
“Oh, come on, Andy. I’ve changed since college.” He scoffed.
“So you never actually dated her?”
“Well I…We might have gone out a time or two. Very casually.”
“Oh, then you did call her back?” She lifted an eyebrow.
He set his full mouth in a hard line. “We’re not here to discuss me, are we?”
Andy laughed. “That’s what I thought.”
"Look, it doesn’t matter. We don’t need her. I grew up with sisters, and I can fix you up in no time, even wearing that. Ready?"
When she didn’t answer, he caught her forearm with a surprising gentleness, and this time when they touched, there was no fabric to shield her from the spark of electricity that jolted her to the core.
She opened her mouth, determined to find the goodbye she’d come so prepared with, but apparently it had left. In its place was a nervous energy that swelled in her stomach and bubbled up her throat. He was touching her. Her.
Protest washed away, and instead of turning up her nose and spouting off facts about the health benefits of make-up-free skin, she was walking through the swanky shop’s chrome doors as if she were weightless.
She had to stop this. This wasn't her, this weird, thoughtless compliance. It wasn’t like a man had never touched her before. She’d had boyfriends. Even a lover or two.
But then again, none of them had been Logan. Not even close.
"You okay there?" His voice broke through the fog of her thoughts, and she finally pulled away from his grasp. Still, she was too aware of the heat flooding her cheeks, of the way his keen brown eyes appraised her. She had to find something, anything, to focus on.
The clothes. Maybe if they talked about clothes for a while she could pretend that she wasn't imagining what he’d look like without any.
"I like this." She grabbed the hanger nearest to her without looking.
Which, as it happened, was a mistake.
The concern in Logan’s eyes turn to something softer—something that made them shine with laughter.
And then she looked down to find that, in her hand, she held the world's tiniest, most see-through teddy.
Her life was flashing before her eyes. At her funeral, people would say, "Did you hear what happened to Andy?" "Oh yes, died of humiliation. We always saw it coming, though. Even when she was a girl." Then they'd tsk and put her in the ground.
In fact, that might be preferable. The ground seemed like a cold solace compared to the magma-like heat rushing to her cheeks while Logan grinned at her like he’d gotten to open his Christmas presents a day early.
“I, uh—” She moved to put the set back on the rack, but he grabbed her hand.
A mocking smile played across his full, stupidly beautiful lips. “No need to be shy. I agree. It’s good to start with the basics. Hang on to that.”
She swallowed her argument along with her pride. Clearly, he meant for her to walk around the place with the sheer lace dangling from the hanger, like her own personal Scarlet Letter.
