“Hmm, really? I was thinking of buying it for myself,” I teased.
“Don’t you dare.” With a serious expression, he snatched the bottle from my hands and put it back on the shelf.
“So, that’s a no?”
“A hard no,” he said, grinning.
Next, I picked up a pink bottle shaped like a flower and took a whiff. The scent made me want to puke. It was perfect. Holding it out, I said, “This one’s really nice.”
“Let me see.” He narrowed his eyes on me as if he suspected it was a trick and inhaled. His eyes instantly watered, and he fake-gagged. “Man, that’s bad. It’s like a rose massacre. The smell of nightmares.”
For the next thirty minutes, it became a game, each of us choosing the worst scents we could possibly find. Nothing was off limits, and the object was to one-up each other. Who could find the most hideous perfume. When I found a dark blue bottle of cologne called Poison Dart, I chuckled to myself. I had this in the bag. No way a cologne with the word poison in it smelled good.
When Carson came to test my selection, I plucked his t-shirt off his chest and spritzed him with it.
“Hey!” He tipped his head down and grimaced. “Oh, man.” He choked. “I think they successfully bottled the smell of death. What’s this one called?”
“Poison Dart.”
“Yup. That’s about right. You win, and I concede. Poison Dart definitely takes the bag. Worst cologne ever.”
I laughed so hard, my stomach ached.
“You owe me big time,” he said, then before I could stop him, he reached out and yanked me toward him. Pulling me into his arms, he wrapped them around me, engulfing me in a cloud of the odorous stench. “How do you like it?” he asked.
I struggled to break free from his vice grip, but when my eyes met his, I stilled. They were so close I could make out every minute detail. “Your eyes have little flecks of green in them,” I rasped. It must be why they sometimes looked aqua in the light.
“Thanks for noticing.” He smirked, and I shoved at his chest, then moved out from under his arm.
“Can I help you two with something?” A woman’s voice said.
I glanced over my shoulder to see a Perfume Mania employee, wearing a carefully controlled smile. I imagine she must’ve grown tired of our antics and wanted to make a sale.
My heart drummed in my chest as I caught sight of the goofy look on Carson’s face. God, he was cute sometimes. And he knew it too, which made admitting it all that much harder.
“Are we trying to find a scent for your girlfriend?” The woman asked, startling me from my daze.
My cheeks burned. Did she just call me his girlfriend?
“Yes,” Carson answered, grinning playfully. Then he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around me from behind and squeezed.
Butterflies rioted in my stomach as the warmth of his chest met my back. He was joking, messing around. He thought it was funny the saleswoman had mistaken us for a couple. And I supposed it was. Just the idea of Carson and I together was hilarious.
But I wasn’t laughing. Though my head knew it was a joke, my body said otherwise. My heart jumped into my throat, and my mouth turned to sand.
“But only the best for my girl. I want the perfect fragrance. What do you recommend?” he asked, deadpan, and gave my arms a little squeeze.
The woman prattled on about her theory on perfume, while Carson nodded, hanging onto every word. Meanwhile, the synapses in my brain were firing at warp speed. All I could think about was how this is what it would be like, to be Carson’s girl, for real.
It was strange how I could picture it so clearly. How easy and natural the image of us together felt in my h
ead. We’d go out and laugh and joke. He’d make me forget all my problems like today—my parents, my college applications, the dance, all the things that sucked about going back home. And when his arms would wrap around me, I’d go weak. Everything else in my life would be a blur because the warmth of his arms, the cut of his smile were all that mattered.
“. . .so, you see, the best perfumes are meant to compliment the person. Why don’t you describe your girlfriend?” The saleswoman said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Her personality, everything about her,” she added.
My insides clenched. “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I said.
“Nonsense,” the saleswoman said. “No one can accurately describe the way others see them. Who better to judge than your boyfriend?”