REBECCA
As we walk through the mall, I'm sort of pretending that Graden is my boyfriend. Just imagining what it would be like to have him as mine. I know it's a fantasy, but I indulge anyway, noting how women eye-fuck him as we go by.
He doesn't seem to notice them. Which makes me wonder what it takes to get him to pay attention. What does he find attractive?
"Underwear," he says, stopping in front of a lingerie store.
"What?" I ask. Had I asked him what he found attractive out loud? God, I need to be careful what I think if I can't keep my thoughts in my head where they belong. He would be so embarrassed if he knew how often I pretended he was mine. How when I made him dinner, I'd fantasize about what it would be like to be married to him. How I think about what it would be like if he didn't go to the guest room at night but instead carried me into the master suite like it was our room. Our bed.
"That's where you should start."
I have to rewind to remember what we were talking about before my mind drifted to my mental marriage with the man least likely to even see me as a woman, much less a woman he wanted to carry to bed.
"Start what?" I ask.
He looks at me like I am crazy. "You wanted a makeover. You should start with underwear."
"What's wrong with my underwear?" Has he even seen my underwear?
Is he blushing? "Nothing. I mean, I haven't seen your underwear, but I'm sure there is nothing wrong with it. But if seduction is on your mind, then start here."
I sigh. This store is definitely not the kind that caters to girls with my figure. "Men can't see what underwear I'm wearing before they ask me out. I need to get them to notice me first. That's my first mission."
I start to walk again, but he grabs my hand and keeps me there. "The underwear isn't for them; it's for you," he says. "If you know you are wearing sexy panties underneath your clothes, any clothes, you'll feel sexier. And that is what attracts men. Your sweet little secrets are for you to know, and him to be dying to find out."
"Oh," I say, dumbly. He's still holding my hand, and I want him to never let it go. "Is that real? Or did you make it up?"
Because the words coming out of his mouth don't sound anything like the Graden I've come to know over the last few years. At all.
"Honestly, I read it in the Cosmopolitan at the doctor's office yesterday. The issue was from 2013, but I think it's still valid."
I can't stop the giggle that bubbles out.
"What?" he asks, pretending to be defensive. "Can't a guy read a magazine?"
We both start laughing, and then we stop and have this awkward moment where we have dopey smiles on our faces, but nothing is funny anymore. And I like seeing this side of him. Awkwardly Smiling Graden is endearing. And if I'm being honest, makes him all that much hotter.
I guess it's time to admit to myself that I don't want a guy "like" Graden, I want Graden. I know he sees me as a little sister. I'm not his type at all, which I guess is why we're here. So I can figure out what his type even is. Not that I could change his mind about me. But maybe there is a Gradenesque model out there somewhere. And he's just waiting for me to stumble into the lonely bar he's waiting in. Maybe Cosmo is right, and I need the underwear to trick myself into thinking I'm sexy.
Nevertheless, this store is intimidating.
"I'm not sure, Graden."
"Come on." He pulls me inside.
A too-beautiful-to-be-a-shopgirl woman greets us, and I immediately want to slink out. Her name tag says Leslie, and when she asks how she can help me, my tongue ties. I don't know. I don't want to be here, so helping me would include showing me the quickest way out of the store.
She's eyeing Graden like a snack, but pauses on our still linked hands. I expect her to give me a catty reply or look, but instead, she gives me a secret wink.
"My girlfriend wants to buy something that will knock my socks off," he tells her when I still haven't answered. I inhale sharply at the word "girlfriend" and wonder how it would feel if he wasn't pretending. "But all I know about lingerie is what I think will look good on my floor."
Oh, God. The mental pictures I'm having are indecent. Greeting Graden in a corset when he comes home after a long, hard day. Graden ripping lace off my body. His body covering mine while scraps of expensive lingerie litter the floor around our bed.
I catch his gaze and worry that he can see my thoughts. But other than his normal, intense stare, all seems okay.
Leslie the supermodel shopgirl smiles at him. "You two just made my day. This is my favorite part of the job. I always wanted to be a personal shopper. We have some things you will both love." She shoos Graden over to the little couch set up for waiting and pulls me into a beautiful dressing room in the back, snagging a clipboard and tape measure on our way.
I'm trying so hard to be cool, but I think I might burst into tears. She's going to want to undress me to measure me and bring me things to try on. How can I expose myself to her when she's so perfect and I'm so very not?
"Hey," she says, noticing my reticence. "What's wrong?"
I look around the posh room made to look like a fancy boudoir. If this were really my life, it would be perfect. But I don't have a fancy boudoir body, and the man waiting for me isn't my boyfriend. And it isn't fair that Leslie is so beautiful and nice. I exhale. "I wish you were about twenty years older and a size twenty-two instead of two," I admit, skipping the rest.
"Oh, honey, no." She sits on the chaise and pulls me down next to her. "You are gorgeous. Stop comparing yourself to other people. You have awesome curves, and that man out there obviously thinks so, too."
"We're not…we're not really a thing. He's not my boyfriend, really."
Her perfectly arched eyebrows raise. "Maybe not yet, but my gosh, the way he looks at you made me feel butterflies."
She's nice. Doesn't look crazy. Doesn't seem stupid. And probably has way more experience with men than I have, but there's no way she's right about that. "How did he look at me?"
"Like he wanted to drag you into his cave. Seriously, I think he's got it bad for you."
I shake my head. "He thinks of me like a sister."
She purses her lips and shakes her head like I'm the one with a screw loose. "No, honey. No, he doesn't." She stands up, dragging me with her. "Let's get you down to your panties and bra so I can get you some measurements. Then you are going to spend an obscene amount of money on scraps of lace to decorate that man's cave floor. Believe me, we are going to bring him to his knees."