re we’re standing. “My mom likes shopping there.” I point at the store I’m talking about.
Gracie frowns when I turn to look at her. “You want me to look like your mom?”
I shrug. “Hey, you said you wanted to look older. And my mom looks pretty good for being…older.”
“If she heard you say that right now, she’d probably smack you,” she says, her brows lifting.
“My mom is a little curvier than she used to be, but she still looks good,” I say defensively. I hook my arm through Gracie’s and steer her toward the store I’m talking about. “Let’s go in and check it out.”
I don’t want to go inside the store, but Gracie is reluctant, so I practically drag her in there. It’s definitely got a different atmosphere compared to the other stores she’s been to. No loud, currently popular music blasting from the speakers. No piles of T-shirts and shorts and whatever else stacked on tables. Everything in this place is on hangers on racks, and in one section, it’s nothing but suit jackets and pants.
“That’s…too much,” Gracie says, wrinkling her nose when I grab a hanger with a black blazer and show it to her.
I return the blazer to the rack and keep cruising. “There’s a bunch of dresses in the back.”
She sifts through all the dresses, her nose still wrinkled, her brows drawing together every time she studies a price tag. “They’re a little expensive.”
I spot a sales rack and head for it. “Follow me.”
I’m no expert when it comes to shopping—especially for women—but she’s doing everything I ask, which is surprising. I think she’s defeated. And when you’re feeling defeated, of course you’re not going to be on top of your game. I should know, since I deal with the feeling of defeat quite frequently during football season.
And sometimes, not so much. Like my freshman season, when we were kicking ass and taking names thanks to Ash Davis leading us to a bowl win—not that I played much that season. Sophomore year was rough only because it was a growing year, as the coach called it, but at least I was on the field. Plus, there was a struggle between the quarterbacks—specifically the first-string guy and Eli, who was second-string. We lost a lot of excellent players since they were all seniors and that hurt. Jackson eventually left us too before the season was barely over, and he had the potential to become something great, though he never believed in himself when it came to the game.
Music though? He had his biggest fan encouraging him to go for it, and look where he’s at now. Lucky fucker.
“Ah, these are much better,” Gracie says as she searches through the racks, already grabbing a couple of dresses and slinging them over her arm.
“And they’re an additional twenty-five percent off,” says a perky voice from behind us. “Want me to start a dressing room for you?”
I go stiff, hating how familiar that voice sounds. But then again, I’ve met a lot of women over the last few years. Maybe this chick just sounds like someone I’ve been with before.
And when I think ‘been with,’ I mean actually been with. Intimately. Naked. Sexually.
“Twenty-five percent off? That’s awesome, thank you,” Gracie says with a smile. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she hands over the dresses she wants to try on. “And I’d love a dressing room.”
“Great, I’ll take care of it for you.” The sales associate takes off, and once she’s at a safe distance, I glance over my shoulder, checking her out.
Yep. Totally did that chick at a frat party a few months ago. Can’t remember her name though. Kaylie, Kylie? Katie? Shit.
“Oh, I like this skirt too,” Gracie says, her expression determined as she whips through all the clothes on the sales rack. “You know, Caleb, I have to give it to you.”
“Give what to me?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck. I hate how nervous I feel, but if that chick recognizes me—and she will, I can guarantee it—Gracie is going to be disgusted with me.
I just know it.
“This was a good idea, coming in here,” she explains, flashing me a quick smile. “Maybe I should listen to my friend more often.”
“Are you referring to me?”
“You’re the only friend of mine I’m currently with,” she says, her gaze returning to the rack, though I can see the smile still on her face. She’s probably pleased with putting me in the friend zone, and that sort of pisses me off. She knows what I want from her, but she refuses to give it to me.
So why should I worry what she thinks about me running into the girl I fucked in a frat house bathroom a few months ago? I shouldn’t care at all.
We’re just friends, right?
Shaking my hair out of my face, I start to wander around the store, trying to get this chick’s attention. She’s currently at the register, ringing a customer up, while Gracie is still searching through the sales racks, gathering up a giant pile of clothes to try on. Which sucks, because this means I’m here for the long haul, and I’m going to get bored quick.
Too bad I’m in the friend zone with Gracie. I’d try and mess around with her in the dressing room if we were more than that.