Court said I was hot.

I used his words as the boost I needed while I picked through every article of clothing in my closet. Despite the fact that I lived in mostly hand me-down clothes, my closet was filled with lots of newer, stylish, and more expensive clothes, tags still intact.

Tasha liked to shop. More specifically she liked to use her dad’s Visa card to somehow try to get back at him for not taking a more active interest in her life. I wasn’t sure her approach was working since they hadn’t seen each other all semester, but she shopped, and I often ended up on the receiving end of expensive, spur of the moment purchases.

I wasn’t sure if she bought the items for herself and then felt too guilty to actually wear them or if gifting them to me was her subtly trying to get me out of my mother’s old dresses. I appreciated the gesture either way. Plus, she had really good taste. Fashion, art – she had an eye for all of it.

I tried on three more pairs of jeans hoping one of these would get the Court seal of approval. The first pair was a light denim with holes at the knees that I paired with an off the shoulder black shirt. It was the most me of the outfits, but since the whole point of this was going out of my comfort zone, I figured this one wasn’t it.

I went sexier with the second outfit. The black jeggings were tighter than the first pair of jeans Court had vetoed, but I pulled on a low cut red top that I hoped made me look sexy and didn’t put me into the trying too hard class.

Last, I tried on a pair of pink skinny jeans that Tasha had bought just last week and pulled on a crème boat necked shirt. It was the most expensive looking outfit of the three and a quick glance at the tag told me why.

“$200 for a shirt?!” I said aloud to my reflection.

Pulling at the hem, I fidgeted but wasn’t all together unhappy with how I looked. It felt like a compromise of who I was and how Court said I should look.

Stripping down and placing the outfits neatly on my bed, I sent Court the photos I’d snapped of me in all three options. I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a little squeal after pressing send. I was nervous.

His approval meant more than it probably should. I wasn’t totally convinced that even with his help I could capture Todd’s attention for more than one night, but I was pretty confident that if Court couldn’t help me – no one could. He oozed self-confidence and there was no way a guy as good looking as him didn’t have his pick of women.

While I waited for his response, I pulled out my laptop and entered his name in the search engine. Google returned almost no more information than I already knew about Court. A link to his bio on his company’s website affirmed that he was a NYU graduate who worked in risk management. The picture was a standard headshot with a grey background that should have made him look like all the other middle-aged men in suits. It didn’t.

I pulled up his Facebook account next. His profile picture hadn’t been changed in over two years, but it was a candid. He wasn’t looking at whoever had taken the photo, but he smiled with a beer in hand wearing a white button-down shirt that was open at the neck. Everything else was locked down, but I had a suspicion that even if I had full access, his profile wouldn’t provide me with the nitty gritty details I was after. Who was Court Adams?

My phone pinged from where it lay on the comforter beside me and I picked it up with greedy hands, both anxious and dreading his feedback.

Court: Option 3. Wear your hair up.

I let out a small sigh of relief that he hadn’t chosen the most revealing outfit because I was pretty certain I’d never be able to convince myself to leave the house wearing it. I let my fingers hover over the message trying to decide how to respond. I wanted to know more about Court, but I treaded carefully, keeping the attention on our task at hand in hopes to gain some details about him.

Me: How often do you travel to CT?

I clutched the phone in my hands, eager for his response. The three dots indicating he was typing appeared.

Court: About once a month. What shoes are you wearing?

I snapped a quick photo of the three shoe options I’d laid out. My sparkly flats, a brown sandal, and a pair of death trap five-inch platform heels that Tasha convinced me to buy last year telling me and I quote “those shoes are every man’s wet dream”.

Court: Wear the sparkly flats.

Me: Seriously?

Court: Seriously. The brown shoes are boring and the only place those other shoes belong are around a guy’s shoulders.

I blushed. Hard.

Court: Besides, you want to be comfortable and I have a feeling those shoes are your happy place.

Me: They’re my favorite.

Court: They suit you.

I liked that he thought so. It gave me a false confidence that maybe he somehow got who I really was and was going to help me without trying to make me into someone I wasn’t. I was perfectly happy with who I was inside, I just wanted Todd to give me a chance to show him that person in some flashy new clothing.