Seven crinkles her nose. “Why not? It was all for him, right?”
“It was supposed to be but he dragged his feet through the whole thing. First he didn’t want a bachelor party at all. Then he finally agreed to let Finn plan one but claimed he didn’t want strippers. Of course, Finn insisted. Tank was pissed at him until he found out that Emma was having strippers at her party.”
Seven snorts so hard she almost chokes on a bite of her food. I’m laughing too just recounting the whole mess.
“Did he crash her party or something?” she asks once she catches her breath. “Please tell me he crashed her party and fought some male stripper for her honor.”
That mental image sets us both off laughing again.
“No, although if he could have found out where it was I don’t doubt that he would have. Finn finally calmed him down and he’s behaving but when we got to the club what does Tank do? He proceeds to get shitfaced and spends the entire night telling the strippers who are trying to give him lap dances all about Emma and how much he misses her.”
“Aw, now I feel bad for laughing. That’s really sweet. All he wants is her.”
“Yeah those two are the real deal. I have to admit Tank is pretty funny drunk and very chatty. It was a bitch of a time getting him into bed at the end though. We all had to take a limb and then just toss him toward the mattress.”
Seven giggles at that and I turn toward her. When she sees me looking, she covers her mouth with her hand. I reach out and tug it down. Her laughter trails off and she dips her head so her hair covers her face slightly.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just don’t want you to cover that sound. I love hearing it.”
“Hearing what? Me laughing?”
“Yeah. I like hearing you laugh. Seeing your smile.”
My words hang in the air between us. Seven doesn’t seem to know how to respond but I can tell by the flush in her cheeks that she likes this, too. With a little embarrassed laugh, she turns her attention back to the carton of food in her hand.
After finishing the last of the macaroni, she lets out a happy, satisfied sigh and rests her head on the back cushion of the couch.
“I love talking to you like this,” she blurts then looks mortified at the outburst.
“You do?” I turn toward her.
“It feels just like when we used to chat every night. You always had some crazy story to tell about your family or your newest projects.”
“I was always worried that you’d get sick of listening to me bitch.”
She shakes her head. “You weren’t bitching. Just sharing your life. It made me feel like I was a part of it, too.”
Taking a chance, I grab her hand which is resting on the couch cushion between us. Although she freezes in place at the contact, after a moment she squeezes my hand.
“That’s because you are a part of it. A really important part. And I loved sharing those stories with you. It meant a lot, having someone willing to listen.”
In the time that we’ve been talking, I’ve moved a little closer. Close enough that when she turns her head to look at me, her hair brushes against my cheek. It’s so soft and I wonder how it would feel against my skin.
“There’s something else I’d love to share with you if you’re willing.”
At my words, she looks up. When she realizes how close we are, she swallows. Hard. All it would take is for one of us to lean forward a little and our lips would touch. It’s so tempting but until I know I can trust her, it would be foolish to allow myself to get any more attached. It’s crazy how this girl has me so turned around.
My gut tells me she’s hiding something but it also tells me that she cares for me. So which do I believe? The only thing I can think of is to keep her close and hope that she’ll confide in me the way she has before. In order to do that, she needs to know I’m here for her as a friend.
As difficult as it is to rein my lust in, our friendship has to take precedence over my sudden curiosity to know what she tastes like.
“Would you be my date for the wedding?”
Her hand jerks in mine. “You want me to come with you? Really?”
Giving up my resolve to give her space, I pull her against my chest. She’s tense for a second and then she melts against me. Her head settles in the curve of my shoulder and her breath warms my neck. I run my hand up and down her back soothingly.
“Yes, I want you to come with me.”
“Why?”
Her soft question throws me. Does she really not know how much I enjoy spending time with her? I thought it was pretty obvious that I’ve gotten way too attached to having her around over the past week. But maybe it’s time I make it a little more obvious.
“Because there’s no one else I’d rather share it with.”
†
The next morning, I drive Seven to the small strip mall on the other side of town since we don’t have time to go across the water to one of the big malls in Norfolk or Virginia Beach. I was going to just call up Sasha and ask to borrow a dress but when I made the suggestion Seven told me I was “such a guy.”
I have no idea what that means but apparently borrowing a dress is the worst idea ever.
Following a girl around while she tries on clothes is pretty much my idea of a waking nightmare but luckily Seven seems to know what she wants. After flipping through a few racks, she grabs a light blue dress and another one in a soft yellow color. After less than five minutes in the dressing room, she comes back out holding the blue one.
“I’ll take this one and those nude sandals in a size seven.”
While the saleslady collects the shoes, Seven grabs one of those little sparkly purses girls always carry to fancy events and then plucks a pair of earrings off the display on the counter. A few minutes later, we’re outside in the sunshine.
“That was the fastest shopping trip I’ve ever been on. My mom used to take forever picking out a dress.”
Seven throws her bag in the backseat of my car and then climbs in the front. “Your mom is gorgeous and probably knows how to dress. I just try to look appropriate and fit in. Fashion isn’t my thing and never will be so I stick to the same basic colors. Blue usually works. Besides, no one will be looking at me.”
There’s no anger or sadness in the statement. Instead she says it as a matter of fact, like it should be obvious to everyone. I open my mouth to say something but she’s already turned toward the window.
Once we get back to my apartment, she makes an excuse about needing to work and then disappears into the guest room. I let out a sigh. I should have said something. It kills me that she sees herself that way, as unattractive or unworthy. Her scar bothers her, I can tell by the way she hides it, but I barely see it now. I noticed it when we first met but now it’s just part of her face like the shape of her eyes or the curve of her lush bottom lip.
Disturbed by the direction of my thoughts, I sit on the couch and bury myself in my own work. The next time I look up, it’s after lunchtime.
Shit. The wedding starts in two hours and as a groomsman I’m supposed to arrive early so we can take pictures. That’s probably something I should have mentioned to Seven when I asked her to come with me. Most women appreciate a little time to get ready before an event.
“Sev, it’s time to get ready,” I call out.
I don’t hear any movement so I close my laptop and then walk down the hall. I knock on the door once, then again before opening it slightly. There’s a muffled curse and when I open the door all the way, I see why.
Seven is in the middle of pulling her dress over her head.
We both freeze and the sight of her slim curves in the sheerest bra and panties I’ve ever seen is instantly burned into my brain. There’s a warning sound going off in the back of my mind telling me that I should turn around to give her privacy. That I’m being an asshole by standing here staring at her while she’s struggling to pull her dress down.