The Junior (College Years 3)

I wave a hand toward the closed door of Gracie’s dressing room.

“Oh.” Skylee’s expression falls. “Are you two together?”

“Yes. Yes, we are,” I say firmly, nodding my head again and again. I’m filled with the realization that I don’t want to talk to this chick. “In fact, I should go check on my girlfriend. See if she needs help with anything.”

I leave Skylee where she’s standing and head for the dressing room, rapping my knuckles loudly on the sleek door before I try the handle. Unfortunately, it’s locked. “Hey babe, let me in there.”

The door quickly swings open, startling me. “Hey babe?” Gracie’s frowning so hard I’m worried she’s giving herself permanent wrinkles. “What the hell are you—”

I crowd her back into the dressing room, slamming the door behind me. “Shhh.” I rest my finger against her lips when she opens them, ready to blast me. “I had to tell her we were together.”

Gracie frowns. “Why?”

“Because she’s trying to ask me out.”

“Oh my God.” She bats my finger away from her lips. “Of course she is.”

I take a step back, checking her out, offering a low whistle. She’s wearing a black dress with little white flowers scattered all over it. “Damn girl, you look fine.”

“You say the worst things.”

“Okay. Let me correct my assessment. You look like a pretty young teacher who’d make my eight-year-old heart flip over itself.” I clutch my chest for extra emphasis.

She’s trying to hide the smile that wants to take over her face. “You can’t stay in here. I’m going to be changing in and out of clothes.”

I drop my hands to my sides. “I can’t go back out there. She’ll keep flirting with me.”

There’s a knock on the door, just before Skylee asks, “Everything okay in there? Do you need any different sizes?”

Gracie’s gaze holds mine as she says, “We’re just peachy, thanks.”

Twelve

Gracie

The pleading expression on Caleb’s face would almost be hilarious if I wasn’t so irritated at him for locking himself in my dressing room to get away from some random girl he messed around with in his not-so-distant past.

“You can’t stay in here,” I whisper hiss at him.

He puts his hands together like he’s praying. “Come on, G. Be a homey and help a friend out.”

This is not exactly how I envisioned friends helping each other out, and he knows it. “I don’t want to strip in front of you.”

“Why not?” He raises a brow. “We’re just friends, right? Besides, I’ve seen you in a bikini before. There’s not much difference between that and panties and a bra.”

He makes it sound like no big deal. Panties and a bra, so what? The problem is the panties I’m currently wearing are really a thong and my entire ass hangs out. Plus, I’m not that thrilled with that particular body part. I have smallish tits, but I sort of revel in that fact. Not having to wear a bra sometimes is liberating.

My butt though? It’s kind of flat. When I was younger, my mom always told me I was one long line, and I never took that remark as a compliment. I’ve also always been more on the lean side, when all I wanted was curves.

We always want what we can’t have, am I right? Case in point—curves and Caleb.

“Turn around,” I tell him with a sigh.

He automatically turns so his back is facing me. He’s currently wearing a red Fresno State T-shirt and navy basketball shorts. Nothing special but, somehow, he’s rocking it. Maybe that’s because he’s so damn attractive, it’s hard to look bad when your face and body are both so perfect.

Quickly I shed the dress and pull on a new one, tugging it into place as I tell him, “You can face me now.”

Slowly he turns, his gaze scanning me from head to toe, lingering. Making me warm. “You look good in that too.”