look like a country bumpkin.
Max finally looks me over. For a brief moment I actually think she might like my outfit, but then some emotion crosses her face so swiftly that I can’t make out what it is.
“Not that one,” she says quickly.
And now she’s turned away again, refusing to look me in the eye. What is this all about? I actually thought this combination was really pretty.
“Really?” Just to make sure she understands the fabulousness of the skirt, I twirl around once to show it off. “It’s so cute, though.”
“Really. Put the red one back on,” she barks before opening her computer back up.
The red-and-pink dress she’s referring to is the outfit I showed her first. It’s the sweetest Kate Spade dress, with a big skirt and a tight-fitting bodice. I literally squealed when Mama and Daddy gave it to me for Christmas. The only reason I didn’t choose it is because it seemed a little overeager. I mean, who wears a party dress on a dinner date?
“You don’t think that’s too loud?” I bite my lip. “Too, I don’t know, colorful for Hatfield’s?”
“Clearly he likes loud and colorful, or he wouldn’t be dating you, right?” she says without missing a beat. “Honestly, I hope you’re embarrassed by the way you’re acting. I know drag queens who don’t spend this much time debating what to wear!”
I can’t help but giggle at Max because she’s just so quick to get fired up. The funny thing is, I actually think she believes she’s stoic or calm, when really she’s the most emotional person I know. Because yeah, anger, outrage, annoyance—those are all emotions, and she wears them around like a favorite shirt.
“You’re right, girl. I know you are. It’s just our first real date.” I turn to walk back down the hallway. “I wanna look nice. I needed a second opinion on what he might like.”
“Yeah, because I’m the reigning intellect on what a man wants!” she calls after me.
“Oh, you do too.” I roll my eyes.
“What?” She sounds genuinely confused.
“You do too know what a man likes. Particularly when the man in question is your brother!”
I know she doesn’t need the reminder that I’m dating her big brother, since she still does her best to pretend it isn’t happening. I, on the other hand, do my best to ruffle her feathers because I have a sneaking suspicion the best thing for Max is to have some friends who aren’t afraid to tick her off. And I’m certainly not afraid of that; heck, I consider it a vocation.
Back in my bedroom I slip out of the outfit I have on and hang it all neatly in the closet. It takes me a hot minute to get my hair out of its pins and back into its natural state of big and bouncy. By the time I hear a knock on the front door, I’m ready to go, at least physically. Mentally I’m freaking out.
Brody and I have gone surfing; we’ve hung out at his house and bars and Max’s birthday party. And yes, we’ve kissed. Holy Moses, have we kissed. But our relationship is about nine minutes old, and it didn’t exactly get off to the easiest of starts. I so don’t want to mess everything up, and there are oh so many ways I could do that. First of all, we’re total opposites. He’s thirty-two, which is nine years older than I am. And—I’m just gonna say it—he’s rich. Like kind of stupid crazy wealthy. His being wealthy wouldn’t make a difference, except that I am most definitely not rich and never have been. Plus I’m forever saying these things in front of him that make me feel like a hillbilly, which—thank the good Lord—he seems to find charming instead of embarrassing. And lastly there’s the way he looks. Blessed assurance —he’s so hot it’s basically unnatural. He is the most beautiful man I—or anyone else for that matter—have ever seen, and sometimes it takes my breath away and I have to remind myself to breathe.
Like right now.
Breathe, Landon!
I take a strangled breath and give myself one more
Max finally looks me over. For a brief moment I actually think she might like my outfit, but then some emotion crosses her face so swiftly that I can’t make out what it is.
“Not that one,” she says quickly.
And now she’s turned away again, refusing to look me in the eye. What is this all about? I actually thought this combination was really pretty.
“Really?” Just to make sure she understands the fabulousness of the skirt, I twirl around once to show it off. “It’s so cute, though.”
“Really. Put the red one back on,” she barks before opening her computer back up.
The red-and-pink dress she’s referring to is the outfit I showed her first. It’s the sweetest Kate Spade dress, with a big skirt and a tight-fitting bodice. I literally squealed when Mama and Daddy gave it to me for Christmas. The only reason I didn’t choose it is because it seemed a little overeager. I mean, who wears a party dress on a dinner date?
“You don’t think that’s too loud?” I bite my lip. “Too, I don’t know, colorful for Hatfield’s?”
“Clearly he likes loud and colorful, or he wouldn’t be dating you, right?” she says without missing a beat. “Honestly, I hope you’re embarrassed by the way you’re acting. I know drag queens who don’t spend this much time debating what to wear!”
I can’t help but giggle at Max because she’s just so quick to get fired up. The funny thing is, I actually think she believes she’s stoic or calm, when really she’s the most emotional person I know. Because yeah, anger, outrage, annoyance—those are all emotions, and she wears them around like a favorite shirt.
“You’re right, girl. I know you are. It’s just our first real date.” I turn to walk back down the hallway. “I wanna look nice. I needed a second opinion on what he might like.”
“Yeah, because I’m the reigning intellect on what a man wants!” she calls after me.
“Oh, you do too.” I roll my eyes.
“What?” She sounds genuinely confused.
“You do too know what a man likes. Particularly when the man in question is your brother!”
I know she doesn’t need the reminder that I’m dating her big brother, since she still does her best to pretend it isn’t happening. I, on the other hand, do my best to ruffle her feathers because I have a sneaking suspicion the best thing for Max is to have some friends who aren’t afraid to tick her off. And I’m certainly not afraid of that; heck, I consider it a vocation.
Back in my bedroom I slip out of the outfit I have on and hang it all neatly in the closet. It takes me a hot minute to get my hair out of its pins and back into its natural state of big and bouncy. By the time I hear a knock on the front door, I’m ready to go, at least physically. Mentally I’m freaking out.
Brody and I have gone surfing; we’ve hung out at his house and bars and Max’s birthday party. And yes, we’ve kissed. Holy Moses, have we kissed. But our relationship is about nine minutes old, and it didn’t exactly get off to the easiest of starts. I so don’t want to mess everything up, and there are oh so many ways I could do that. First of all, we’re total opposites. He’s thirty-two, which is nine years older than I am. And—I’m just gonna say it—he’s rich. Like kind of stupid crazy wealthy. His being wealthy wouldn’t make a difference, except that I am most definitely not rich and never have been. Plus I’m forever saying these things in front of him that make me feel like a hillbilly, which—thank the good Lord—he seems to find charming instead of embarrassing. And lastly there’s the way he looks. Blessed assurance —he’s so hot it’s basically unnatural. He is the most beautiful man I—or anyone else for that matter—have ever seen, and sometimes it takes my breath away and I have to remind myself to breathe.
Like right now.
Breathe, Landon!
I take a strangled breath and give myself one more
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