Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Usually, I'm grateful my best friend is attuned to women's fears.
Right now?
I don't want to think about it.
"Sure. If you're that desperate to see Mango again," I say.
"Absolutely." He smiles. "I need one of those hot pink suits."
"They're women's suits."
"That's bullshit," he says. "Men can wear hot pink too."
Yes, but I don't have the energy to argue about the way the patriarchy oppresses men by limiting their sartorial choices. And the reverse, where women are expected to dress fashionably, at all times, in all places. It's not my battle. "Take it up with the head designer."
"You think I won't?"
If he's going to play this part, I'm going to call him on it. "How about this? I buy you a hot pink suit, but you have to wear it every day."
"You think I won't?" he asks.
"Do you think I won't?"
He nods of course not, stops in front of a busy bar, pulls out his cell, sends a text.
Uh, what?
"My suit measurements," he says.
What man knows his measurements offhand?
"Do I want to know why you have this info?" I ask.
"Luna."
Of course. The sexy, cool girl with the silver hair. Not that I'm jealous. Not excessively jealous. "You two are pretty good friends." The lack of jealousy does not come through in my voice.
He smiles you are so filled with envy it's funny, but he doesn't say anything.
And I… well, I need some excuse. "It's not fair. She gets you every day."
"You can have me every day."
He means it in a as a friend kind of way, but I hear you can screw me every day and it's enough to send my thoughts away from all the ugly places.
Dare, in my bedroom, without his clothes.
The two of us, as one.
Why is that such an appealing image?
"It's only an hour drive," he says. "I'll be there any day you invite me."
To talk. To hang. To keep things platonic. "Every day?"
"If you ask," he says. "But we both know you won't."
For a few minutes, we walk in quiet comfort. We turn onto the shopping avenue. We pass rows of designer outlets. And Mango.
Dare stops to marvel at the women's suits. Pastel blue, ivory, fuchsia.
"You'd look good in this." He motions to the photo of the extremely thin model in a pastel blue suit jacket and slacks, no shirt.
I don't think so. The model is itty bitty with the flat chest to match (no judgment; small boobs are cute). The no bra thing looks good on her. On someone my size? Not so much.
"It looks different on bigger girls."
"Yeah, hotter."
I shake my head.
He offers his hand. "Wanna bet?"
"Bet what?"
"We go tomorrow. You try it on. I bet it will look hot as fuck."
He thinks I'll look sexy in the ridiculous polyester suit. My blush returns. My ugly thoughts fade away. I find the space between serious conversation and flirtation. The normal Dare and Val banter. "And you get to decide if it looks hot or not?"
He nods.
"How is that fair?"
"I'll be honest."
"They don't have my size."
"They do too." He motions to an image in the corner, a larger model advertising a plus-size collection. "If not… you look good in this." He taps his jacket. "We can do a men's suit jacket, nothing under it, instead."
"And what is it we're betting?"
He looks me in the eye. "You tell me why you got upset."
So much for normal banter. "Dare—"
"I lose, I drop it. Help you." He shrugs like it's no big deal. "If you're sure it will look bad."
"How can I trust you to be honest?"
"If you don't agree with my assessment, we'll ask Luna. She's stylish."
Luna, again! I know I shouldn't feel any envy—she has a boyfriend, not that it matters, since Dare is my best friend, not my future boyfriend—but he doesn't have to bring her up two times in one conversation or say her name like she's the most stylish woman in the world. "She's gorgeous."
"So are you." His eyes flit to my chest. "And you have better tits."
My cheeks flush. "Since… what… I don't even know where to object to that."
"You've got a great rack, Val. Get over it."
Uh… Okay. I guess that is the sensible thing to do. I won't linger on the erotic implications of his comment. Or the feminist ones.
He holds out his hand. "Are we on?"
"Okay." This is the only way he'll drop it. And, sure, he'll pick it back up again. But not until after we make it to Mango. "But I want something better."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. If I win, you have to show me whatever I want to know."
"With a cucumber?" he asks.
"However I want to learn." A cucumber is as far as I'll go, but I want him to sweat it. Even if that's not really the smartest decision in the world.
He swallows hard. "You won't win."
And I won't push him here, either. I'm only pushing back a little. "Then what's the harm?"