“Okay.” Ansley offered her a midnight-blue dress. “It’s too short for me, but it should go to your knees.”
Shayler took the dress, grateful that Ansley was fine with dropping the conversation. Things with David were different, but saying it out loud? That would condemn her to hours of interrogation, would force her to confront her feelings head on.
“Thanks.” Shayler looked around for something to store it in, not wanting to parade it in front of Derek.
Ansley grabbed a grocery tote from next to her mini-fridge and handed it to Shayler. “Have fun tonight.”
“Please. I have to get through this first.”
“True.” Ansley nodded. “Hey, do you … is that offer to join you guys for Spring Break still on the table?”
“Duh.”
“Cool.”
“We leave Monday, but it’s going to be hella early because Rebecca is a crazy drill sergeant.”
Ansley laughed, and Shayler brightened. At least they’d have some girl time in a couple days, and she could stop thinking about David. Her chest panged as she realized it’d be an entire week without him. As she and Ansley walked out to face the doom together, Shayler gulped. She thought things would be better in the living room, but then they stumbled upon Derek and Rebecca arguing over hoodies.
“…not giving up my precious closet space for some ten-year-old jacket. It has holes in it!”
“It’s perfectly wearable.”
Shayler glanced around. “Where’s Damion?”
Rebecca spun on her heel and tossed the hoodie back into the box. “He left to grab us lunch.”
“Think he probably wanted to avoid all of this?” Shayler said, gesturing to Derek’s annoyed stance. Ansley nodded in agreement.
“Look, it’s my closet! I can’t have all of his stuff in there. My books have been in the same place for two years, but I have to move them for Xbox games?” Rebecca covered her face, taking an exaggerated breath.
Derek sighed and stepped forward, pulling her into a hug. “It’s not a big deal, Rebecca. I can keep them in a box, okay? You don’t have to move anything if you don’t want to.”
Rebecca sniffled and peeked at him through her fingers. “I-I want your stuff to have space.”
“I know. We’ll get it figured out.” He grinned down at her.
Shayler shuffled on her feet, returning her gaze to the blonde who looked even more uncomfortable than she did. “Ans and I are gonna deal with making room in your closet.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “You can’t! Don’t touch my—”
“I’ve known you for seven years. I’ll be able to figure out what needs to be kept and what you can toss. This way, you don’t have to stress, and we don’t have to watch you emotionally rip each other’s clothes off.”
“Fine.”
Shayler jogged back to the bedroom, hoping to avoid the rest of their romantic moments. Earlier in the semester, it’d been uncomfortable to watch, too intimate and strange to her. Now, it was because it made her think of David, and the reminder made her miss him.
Ansley tossed a pillow at her head, and Shayler blinked, breaking out of her daze. “Sorry.”
“Get to work, or else we’re gonna be here way past your dinner date, and that means you’ll be subjected to their daily six o’clock romp too.”
“Daily?”
“You can’t tell me you’re surprised she schedules sex.”
“I’m more surprised you’ve stuck around to figure out their pattern.”
Ansley handed her an empty box. “Shut up and get started.”
“You got it, boss.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Cleaning out Rebecca’s room had left Shayler sweaty, smelly, and starving. Yet, a short three hours later, she was standing in front of her mirror looking like none of those things. Okay, the starvation was still there, but she figured something at the dinner would be edible.
From yoga pants and pit stains to Golden Globes ready, Shayler’s hair was done, her makeup was set, and her dress was absolutely killer. She gave credit to Ansley for picking out something that was equally elegant and sexy though.
Actually, the dress was kind of retro. While the dark blue made her eyes and red hair pop, the cap sleeves, slim waist, and ruche top reminded her of the fifties. Well, not the real fifties with all that war and sexism and segregation, but the commercialized fifties that was mainly about hoop skirts and milk shakes and men trying to convince their friends that they’d gotten laid that summer.
Best of all, aside from the way she felt her curves being hugged, was that her hair had cooperated. After a short struggle, she’d forced it into an elegant up-do that people usually saved for weddings. Three tendrils were left out, not to frame her face, but because she’d run out of bobby pins. It didn’t matter, she still looked awesome.
Shayler smiled at her reflection and blew a kiss. It was startling to see the person in the mirror mimic her actions. She was so anti-Shayler at the moment, with a long dress and her hair put up and nude matte lipstick. Clicking her tongue, she bent and grabbed a pair of her tallest Fuck-Me heels. It was enough to make her feel a tad more like herself, so she struggled to get her feet into them and sighed.
There were only a few minutes until her date would be there. Date. The word rolled around in her head like the world’s heaviest bowling ball. But that date was David, and she couldn’t have picked someone better suited for the job. A knock interrupted her thoughts, and she took a deep breath, preparing herself for what awaited outside of her bedroom.
As she expected, her roommates were lined up on the couch and let out a series of catcalls and cheers. Even Gigi joined in with a small smirk on her face. The front door shook with another knock, but Shayler ignored it. David was early, and Gigi was talking.
“You clean up nice, Thompson.”
“It’s just a dress.”
Whitney put her head in her hands and smiled wistfully. “You look like my aunt.”
“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”
“She had five dates last weekend, so yeah.”
Shayler chuckled. “That’s called speed dating, Whit, and it’s not a good thing.”
Whitney reached into the empty pizza box that was beside her and pulled out a leftover bit of pepperoni, chucking it. Luckily, Shayler was able to duck out of the way before it stained her dress.
“What do you think, Viv?”
“You look pretty.”
“Pretty?”
Vivian nodded. “You always look hot, but now you look pretty.”
There was a light tapping, and Shayler giggled to herself. Anyone else would’ve gone back to their car and honked or texted her to get her butt out there. Or, if they were Rebecca, they would’ve barged in. Only David would wait by the door, knocking at thirty-second intervals.
She kicked aside an empty bottle of conditioner and opened the door, standing in the gap as she waited for him to take in the sight of her. He glanced at her face and then ran his gaze down the length of her body with a smile. Shayler bit her lip and fluttered her lashes, just like she’d seen done in every romantic comedy ever. It was a matter of seconds until he’d declare how stunning she was, and then she’d blush and pull away.
“Do you have something in your eye?”
Shayler’s mouth dropped open. “No.”
“Oh. You ready to go?” He held out his arm for her.
“Seriously? That’s all you have to say?”
“What?”
“You’re supposed to comment on this stupid dress.”
“It’s nice.”
She groaned. “Nice? You can’t say that. You have to say stunning or breathtaking or be totally speechless. Then gasp a little, stumble back, and stare at me in awe.”
He chuckled. “Is that how it’s supposed to go?”
“In the movies, yes. A makeover is life changing, and an outfit like this would totally warrant me descending a grand staircase in slow-mo.”
“I’ve seen you naked, Shayler. No matter how big the makeover is, it’s not going to compare to that.”
Her roommates giggled behind her, and David’s ears reddened as she let the door hit the wall so he could see them. His response wasn’t terrible, but geez, hadn’t he seen a freaking movie before? What was the point in dressing up if he didn’t appreciate it?
“I’m not leaving here until you tell me I’m the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”
He took her hand and pulled her forward. “I’ve always thought you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, known, or talked to. Inside and out. A dress doesn’t change that.”
Something lodged itself in Shayler’s throat, and she could hardly do more than squeak. While her roommates teased her, she stepped out of the apartment and shut the door softly behind her.
She’d wanted a dramatic dress reveal, and instead, she’d gotten something totally David that made her damn heart soar like she was bungee-jumping off a freaking cliff. She was so done for, and that was just based on his personality. Add his manly, sexy nerd thing to the package and she couldn’t begin to describe how she felt.
He led her down stairs to his car, holding her hand as she stared at him. His suit was tailored or some Italian man had made it specifically for him because it hugged his shoulders and ass like it was superglued to his body. Shayler willed her stomach to get a grip before she ripped it off him and rode him right there in the parking lot.
Seconds from when she was about to climb into his car, David spun her around. His eyes seemed serious, and his smile was long gone. She clutched his blazer, needing to do something with her hands to distract herself from the way he made her feel.
“You’re not gonna finger me in this parking lot too, are you?” she said, laughing weakly.
“Shayler,” he started, his voice hitting her right in her core, “I love you.”
“David…”
“It’s not your body or your looks. Not this dress or your little skirts. It’s this.” He rested his hand on her chest, and her breathing became shallow. “It’s not because you’re sexy or fun. It’s you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I love you for the you underneath all that shit. Even if sex were off the table and all we did was study, I’d love you.”
“That is me.”
He squinted. “It’s who you want to be, seductive and flirty and the life of the party. Most of the time you are, but for me, it’s more than that. If you weren’t those things, if you stopped being those things, I’d still love you.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, needed you to know. So, no, I don’t care if you’re wearing this dress or a turtleneck or a shower curtain. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
“I was just joking.”
David stepped back and glanced at his shoes. “I’m sorry, but … not … not for now. For before. When we met. I shouldn’t have dismissed you, shouldn’t have called you what I did. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t know you.”
She was prepared to drop the whole thing and tell him she didn’t care, but she did. She always had. “I really let it get to me, started blaming you for casting some spell that stopped me from getting laid. But, subconsciously and maybe a little bit consciously, I think it was because I hadn’t stopped thinking about you. Your rejection didn’t hurt because it was a rejection, it hurt because it was you. And the more I was around you, the more I liked you. But I kept thinking I was the type of girl for you. The girl you’d want. And for some stupid fucking reason, I want to be that girl. Your girl.” The admission made her head swim, and she steadied herself against the car, waiting for the metal frame to swallow her up.
He kissed her forehead. “As long as you’ll have me, you’ll always be my girl.”
Like he could sense it was as far as she’d go, David opened her door and walked to his side without another word. They settled in their seats, and Shayler ran a hand down her dress.
While he clicked on the radio and turned it to Shayler’s favorite station, she checked him out again. “You’re not nervous.”
“Is that a question?” he asked with a smile, pulling out of the lot.
“No, but I’m surprised. Why not?”
“It’s just a dinner.”
“With all of your colleagues and your boss.”
David shrugged. “I don’t see a reason to stress out about something like this, can’t imagine anything that bad happening. You aren’t nervous, are you?”
“Of course not,” she said, but her words were hollow. As soon as she’d seen him, horrible scenarios had begun playing out in her mind, and she couldn’t stop rubbing her hands on the blue satin of her dress.
“Don’t be. They’re going to love you.”
“I’m not exactly their type of people, and Hale already hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“He’s always giving me dirty looks.”
“Hale is … complicated. But he’s a smart man, and he means well.”
Shayler snorted. “Yeah, okay.”
“Shayler,” David said, turning to her at a red light. “They’ll love you. You’re funny, charming, smart, and beautiful. The whole package.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we can grab some cartons and egg their house tonight.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“For you, I would.”
Shayler beamed and grabbed his hand, holding onto it as they drove the rest of the way in silence. Well, not silence, Shayler used the time to belt out the lyrics to every song that came on the radio. But they didn’t talk, and it was nice. Calming. And she knew that he was there for her, which was a feeling she wasn’t used to but was starting to really like.
When they arrived, Shayler realized the building was way less extravagant than she’d expected. She’d been picturing some giant, sprawling mansion with a water fountain and swans out front. They parked in Dean Clifton’s circular driveway, a large brick building in front of them.
It was definitely the size of about two or three homes, but that’s where the comparisons to her earlier vision stopped. Outside there was a wooden bench on the porch and a garden that circled the house and looked like it had been planted by a toddler or well-meaning monkey. Weeds grew between cracks in the cements and sad sprigs of purple rose out of the ground in a sporadic fashion. The only other plants were a sad, dying rose bush near the driveway and what seemed to be a single sunflower that lacked any petals.
She allowed David to help her out of the car, giggling as she took in the patches of fertilizer and dirt that covered the lawn. It was like an HGTV what-not-to-do, a DIY gone wrong. Thankfully, the lack of grandeur made the situation a lot less intimidating, which was good since Rebecca had given her notecards to study earlier in case she needed something to talk about, and Shayler had ended up using them as a coaster for her hairspray when she’d been pinning up her hair.
“Ready?” David asked, pausing on the first step of the porch.
Shayler eyed the French doors and nodded. “Bring it on.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Shayler fluffed her napkin and draped it across her lap, glancing around the dinner table that rivaled those at banquet halls. There were sixteen of them, sixteen people dressed in suits and gowns, sipping their drinks, and talking over one another.
Introductions had been made, not that Shayler could remember their names. Other than Clifton, of course. The wrinkly old man sat at the head of the mile-long table, tiny spectacles hanging around his neck as he informed them it would be five more minutes until appetizers. Shayler eyed her salad fork, prepared to slice open a major artery if it somehow got even more unbearable.
David was next to her and gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. Shayler squeezed back, and he took a sip of his whiskey, trying to disguise his cough behind the glass as he swallowed. When the other dean, the chubby one with the southern accent, had offered her a red wine along with the rest o
f the ladies, Shayler had politely declined. When he’d assumed it was because she didn’t drink, she’d laughed, told him to think again, and snatched a whiskey off the counter.
He’d laughed about it and clinked his glass with hers, and Shayler had decided that she liked him the best. Until now, when he was droning on and on about the Civil War his great-whatever had fought in. She was ready to lie down on the beige tablecloth and fall asleep.
The one thing keeping her evening interesting, however, was the man who sat across from her. The man who stared daggers at her whenever he stopped staring at the deans. Hale. He hadn’t even said hello to her when they’d gotten there, and he’d only grunted at David before stalking to the dining room.
Shayler fought the urge to play with her spoon and smiled at one of the many professors who’d asked if she had any famous ancestors. She didn’t, but she wasn’t about to become the most boring part of the party. “On my mom’s side, we’re related to the guy who wrote the Oscar Meyer jingle.”
Dean Clifton lifted his head. “Do go on.”
“You know, Oh, I'd love to be an Oscar Meyer Wiener, that is what I'd truly like to be,” she sang. She’d been obsessed with the song in kindergarten, when she’d decided to dress up as a hot dog for Halloween.
“I remember that song!” the southern dean declared. “It’s a bit before your time.”
“It’s my family legacy, so it’s my duty to know it,” she said.
She could feel David’s body shaking with silent laughter and grinned as the conversation was directed at someone else. Shayler didn’t mind being the alien at a UFO convention, didn’t mind the attendees using her for their amusement. It was a hell of a lot better than listening to Clifton’s caterer describing garlic infused mussels thirty different ways.
“Please, dig in,” Clifton instructed when small bowls were set in front of them.
Shayler glanced at the shellfish. She’d never really liked them, always having been partial to greasy burgers or extra cheesy pizza instead. Good thing she was adventurous, she thought as she twisted the slimy center out and popped it into her mouth. Chewing was futile, though, and she hacked until the tiny bulb swam down her throat.
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