The Art of Dating

by Messe, Ellie

  I don’t even have a chance to nod before she slips out of the room.

  Pulling the yellow dress from the hanger, I step into it, hauling the material up my torso and tucking my arms into the sleeves. It’s very pretty; lace top to bottom. The only negative is I can’t wear a bra with it due to the fact the sleeve rides the very edge of my shoulders.

  Reaching blindly behind me, I follow the seam of the zipper just to come up empty-handed. Not even my reflection offers assistance.

  Popping my head out of the curtain, I search for the attendant.

  “What do you need?” Logan asks when he notices me.

  “Nothing," I sigh, not spotting the girl anywhere, "You’re just going to say no anyway so I doubt it matters.” Stepping out, I hold the back together with my fingers.

  “Put your arms down.”

  “I can’t; I’m holding the back shut.” His puzzled features prod me to continue, “I think the zipper’s broken or something, I can’t seem to find it.”

  “Here, turn around.” He says standing.

  Once my back is to him, I let go of the fabric.

  My nerves start to rise when his fingers brush against the bare skin of my back. I’m all of a sudden very aware of how exposed I am; not only am I braless, but the zipper sits right above my buttcrack, and I’m not exactly wearing modest underwear.

  I’m acutely aware of every movement he makes in his attempt to locate the zipper, once he finds it, the material molds against my frame the higher it climbs, his fingers drawing a burning line up my spine.

  I feel his hands leave my body before I look up, catching his reflection in the mirror across the hall.

  “There you are.” He appears almost impressed.

  “Thank you.” Ew, why I do I sound like that? All whispery and dry.

  Clearing my throat, I turn around to face him.

  His earlier expression replaced with bored features that match his dull tone, "Shoes?"

  “She grabbed the wrong pair; she’ll be back.”

  His eyes roam the fabric while he chews on the inside of his lip.

  “Might save time if I just took it off and moved on to the next thing,” I tell him, annoyance leaking from each word.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “No, but you’re going to. Just like you’ve been doing all day. You drilled it into my head that I needed to stand a certain way to feel confident, yet here you are telling me I look like crap in everything I try on.”

  “I haven’t used that term once and at no point have you disagreed with me.”

  “What’s the point of disagreeing with you?”

  “I’d assume you’d want a say in what you wear. You’re a very vocal person, Devina.” He says, sitting back down.

  “I want to wear oversized sweaters and leggings.”

  “No.”

  “See?”

  “Tell me your thoughts on this,” He points to my dress.

  “I think it’s pretty.”

  “Would you wear it?”

  I shrug, “Yeah, I mean I don’t wear dresses often, but when Amy drags me out, I’d wear it.”

  “And if I don’t like it?”

  “Then it goes into the never-ending no pile.”

  His brow furrows, “Have you been silent this entire time because you believed what I said was final?”

  “Well, yeah.” I throw my hands.

  “Devina.” He deadpans, disbelief clouding his features. “I’m giving my opinion not telling you what you can and can’t have. Well, apart from estate sale sweaters.”

  Irritation grows in my stomach, webbing it’s way up my throat, “Are you saying we could have been done hours ago?”

  “If you were fond of something, yes.”

  Dropping my hands against my waist, I glare at him. “You didn’t think to tell me I was allowed to choose?”

  “I didn’t know I needed to. You’re a grown woman; this is an exercise to show you what’s flattering to your figure so when you're rummaging through the clearance racks, your words, not mine, you’ll be able to dress without looking like a beggar.”

  Closing my eyes, I count back from ten, “In that case, when she gets back, we’re leaving.”

  “Have you completed her catalog?”

  “I don’t speak rich, dumb it down.”

  The right side of his lip raises, “Have you tried on everything she brought in with you.”

  “Oh, no. But it’s just dresses left.”

  He nods, turning to look at the approaching attendant.

  “Again, I’m so sorry, here are the shoes,” She hands me a pair of purple pumps, that I quickly slip into.

  I never thought yellow and purple would match, but it looks surprisingly good. “I like it.”

  “Good.” Logan pipes up behind me, “Let the attendant know what you're keeping.”

  “Will do,” I call over my shoulder, walking back into the changing room, more than ready to call it a day. The longest day of my life and I could have been done at the first store.

  Rolling my eyes at myself, I quickly change and start separating the clothing I like onto the empty rack behind me when the attendant returns.

  “Can you arrange these by price?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know like cheapest to most expensive? I couldn't find any price tags.”

  She stammers a moment, looking between me and the clothing. “I don’t understand. Mr. Devitt said price wasn’t an issue.”

  “Yeah, well, Mr. Devitt isn’t the one with a budget here.”

  Her mouth continues to open and close like a fish; I don’t get the confusion.

  “You’re paying?”

  “Well, yeah.” I chuckle. “Who else woul-” My question dies as the pieces start to fall into place, “No,” I draw slowly, he wouldn’t. “What did he tell you when I was changing?”

  “To charge the clothing to his account,” She says slowly.

  “Okay. Well, let’s not do that. Just arrange these for me, and I’ll be right back.”

  Swiping the curtain away, I stomp down the hall towards him, “You’re not buying me clothes.”

  His eyes widen in surprise at my attitude, “Why not?”

  “Because I can buy my own damn clothes. I know we joked about me being a charity case in the car, but it was just that; a joke. I don't need your damn charity.”

  “You didn’t have a problem with this before.”

  “I wasn’t aware this was the plan.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “In the beginning, I said it would be expensive but doable.” He says standing. My sudden anger keeps me planted to the spot even though we’re now nose to nose. “Plus, I can afford it.”

  “And I can’t?” I spit in offense.

  “Can you?”

  Scoffing, I swallow the urge to hit him, “You’re a bastard. I may not live in some fancy apartment and have more money than sense, but I can affor-”

  “Do you want Carl back?” He interrupts.

  “His name is Cole, how many times do I have to-”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Yes, but that gives you no right to-”

  “Then play by my rules.”

  “Stop interrupting me!”

  He shrugs. “Stop throwing a tantrum.”

  “I am not throwing a tantrum. Calling me ugly and mocking my fashion sense is one thing, but treating me like I’m worthless is on another level.”

  “When have I ever treated you like you were worthless?” He challenges, encroaching on my personal space further.

  “Right now! You doubted the fact I could afford an outfit just because we’re in some rich-bitch store.”

  “That dress you were wearing costs three grand.” He keeps his tone even while I feel all the blood leave my body, “Now understand why I would ask if you can afford it. Three grand is nothing to me, where that’s at least two months rent for you.”

  Swallowing, I try to think of a way out of this with
my pride intact. Three grand for a piece of fabric?

  “You agreed to do this my way.” His eyes follow my jaw before boring into mine once again, “My way includes buying you shit, get over it.”

  “And what does this get you? Spending money on a person and getting nothing in return?” I ask trying to hold onto my anger; if I let it go, I’m going to feel like a chastised child.

  “We have a bet going; this gets me the win.”

  “Cole’s never cared about what I wore or what I looked like.”

  “That’s because he was too busy caring what other women looked like naked.”

  Heat surges under my skin, “That’s not true.”

  “You know,” He cocks his head to the side, the tip of his nose brushing against mine, “You’re kind of hot when you're angry.”

  “You’re a pig.”

  His lip starts to raise, “And you’re not pulling away.”

  “I hate you.” Taking a step back, air chills my face. It hadn’t dawned on me just how close we were until he pointed it out.

  “We’ll take it all.” He says, looking over my shoulder.

  Embarrassment creeps up my neck as my eyes land on the attendant standing not three feet away from us; witness to our little tiff.

  “Logan,” I growl.

  Leaning into my space, I retreat earning me a smile, “My class, my rules.”

  He pulls away, not bothering to look back as he retreats.

  Turning slowly, I approach the woman. Grabbing the yellow dress, I pull it off the trolley. “Maybe we don’t get this one.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  How would I describe my week? Well, annoyed sums it up pretty well.

  After Logan and I had our little outburst, I’ve refused to go back over. A carrier delivered my clothing, yellow dress included, a few hours after I got home. If it weren’t for Amy’s love of fashion, they would have gone completely untouched. My attempts to return them were denied by the establishment leaving me feeling guilty. He wasted so much money on things I don’t need, and my pride is a glaring brick wall standing in the way of accepting them. I haven’t even thanked him yet, how ungrateful is that?

  “You going to Logan’s?” Amy asks walking out of the bathroom, her finger fumbling to secure her earring.

  “Nope.”

  “Come on, Devina.” She sighs, “So the guy acted like an asshole? What’s new?”

  “He’s normally teasing, Ames. He made me feel like Cole’s mistake was my fault because I’m ugly. He hurt my feelings.” And he did. Apart from my embarrassment and wounded pride, his accusations about Cole hurts the most.

  “Stop calling it a mistake. That sorry s-o-b is living with her, in your apartment. He didn’t do it because you're ugly, which you’re not, he did it because he's a piece of shit.”

  “We agree to disagree, and we don’t know that they’re still together.”

  “They were the last time I was on Facebook.”

  My face curls as that hole in my chest aches, “You’re stalking him?”

  “No, he blocked me. I am stalking her though. They bought new dishes the other day.”

  Thumping my head against the back of the couch, my mood depletes further; spilling out of my body and staining the cushions with my misery. “I don’t want to know that.”

  “You need to accept it.” She says zipping her jacket.

  “You look nice by the way,” I tell her, appreciating the Jennifer Aniston thing she’s got going on.

  “I know. You need to call Logan.”

  “Have a good day.”

  “I’m serious, Dee.”

  “We need shampoo.”

  Growling, she shakes her head, “I’ll see you tonight.”

  Pulling the door open, she yelps.

  “Is Devina here?”

  “Logan?” I pull myself off the couch to look over Amy’s shoulder. Sure enough, Logan stands outside the door. “What do you want?”

  “You’ve had a week to lick your wounds; we have work to do.”

  “Yeah, I’m not going.”

  Amy squeezes past him, murmuring “Apologize” before entering the stairwell.

  “You’re still upset?” His brow furrows in concern.

  “Of course I’m still upset.”

  “Because I bought you clothing?”

  “The clothes are just hurt pride, the comment about Cole is what I’m upset about.”

  “And what comment would that be?”

  “You said Cole cheated on me because I’m ugly.”

  “I said no such thing.” He tells me, entering the apartment, uninvited.

  “Yes, you did. You said he didn’t care what I looked like because he was checking her out or whatever.”

  “Mhm, and where in that statement did I call you ugly?”

  “You implied it.”

  “I did not.” His calm demeanor is frustrating.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Devina, I wouldn’t imply it because I don’t believe it. He cheated because he couldn’t see what was in front of him, I’m making him notice.”

  “Well, your efforts are pointless now. They’re living together.”

  His brow lifts, “How do you know that?”

  “Amy stalks the girl’s facebook.”

  A smile tugs at his lips, “But not you?”

  “No, not me. That’s not something I want to see.”

  “You’ve mentioned that your friend disapproves of you returning to the relationship,” I nod, though the word 'disapproves' is a tad mild, “How do you know if what she says is true?”

  “Because she wouldn’t lie about it.” He quirks a suspicious brow, “She wouldn’t.”

  “Let’s test this theory,” He waves towards the couch.

  “You want to test to see if Amy’s lying?”

  “Lying is too harsh of a word; I want to see the difference in perception.”

  “Dumb it down.”

  “Just bring up the girl’s facebook.”

  “Logan,” I sigh, “I don’t want to see it.”

  “You don’t have to.” He pulls out his phone, taking a seat on the couch, “What’s her name?”

  “Monica Claire.” Moving over to the couch, I sit beside him.

  “Which one?”

  Angling the phone in my direction, my heart aches at her new profile picture. “That one.”

  I point to the image of her and Cole, snuggled close together.

  “Okay,” He says, idly scrolling. “Wait, that’s not him?”

  Glancing at his screen, I nod, confirming the photo he’s on is Cole.

  “Him? The guy who looks like his parents are related?”

  I crack an unwanted smile, “He does not. He’s attractive.”

  “For a product of incest, sure.”

  “Don’t be mean.”

  “You’re a bit out of his league, don't you think?” He says, squinting at the photo.

  “You’ve got that backward, just look who’s he with; she’s gorgeous.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  I don’t bother replying as he gets lost in her profile.

  “You look miserable in your profile picture.” He says after a while.

  I stop picking at my nails, looking at him, “Are you on my Facebook?” He nods, “Why?”

  “Call it curiosity. Sent you a friend request, approve it. Only cool kids get to be friends with me.”

  “How did you even find me?” I ask, opening my laptop.

  “You commented on one of her photos.”

  Logging into my account, I’m shocked at the number of notifications. “Someone’s popular.” He says, looking over my shoulder.

  “I haven’t been on since I walked in on them.”

  “Change your profile picture while you're on there.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s sad. Put this one up.” He shows me his screen, revealing a photo of Amy and I dancing on a bar from my cousin’s bachelorette pho
to last summer.

  “That’s old, plus it’s not exactly the message I want to be sending when potential clients look me up.”

  He shrugs, his fingers continuing to swipe at the device.

  When Cole changed his status to single, apparently Facebook thought it was a good idea to post on my behalf. The majority of my notifications and messages are from people I haven’t talked to in years wondering what happened. Following Logan's advice, I change my photo to my old default image and log out.

  “Heart emoji, shocked emoji, smiley face.” He talks out loud as his fingers work over the keyboard. “Dinner?”

  “What are you doing?” I chuckle at hearing the word emoji come out of his mouth.

  “Commenting on your new profile picture.”

  “No, you’re not.” Sitting up on my knees, I look over his shoulder.

  Sure enough, he commented asking me to dinner.

  His head lulls to the side, blue eyes find mine, “I’m sorry for hurting your feelings before, was never my intent.”

  “It’s alright.” I shrug, “I’m sorry for acting like a brat and then not even thanking you.”

  “It’s alright.” He echoes, smiling at me. “Does this mean you’re ready to get back to work?”

  “What’s the point? He’s with Monica, you saw for yourself.”

  “He won’t even remember her name when I’m done with you.”

  I roll my eyes, “Why do you care?” It’s an honest question. I’m a nobody while he’s a somebody, I’m plain while he’s gorgeous, it makes no sense.

  “You’re my pet project.” He smiles, “Plus, I’ve got a bet to win, remember?”

  I give a defeated laugh, “The odds aren’t exactly in your favor.”

  “Sure they are.”

  “If you say so.”

  “So what do you say, Duckie?”

  “Duckie?”

  “I’m trying something new.”

  I shake my head and laugh, “I don’t like it.”

  “I know. So what’ll it be?”

  I don’t understand his dedication to this, but he’s kind of grown on me over the last eight weeks. And though he can be a total asshole at times, he also has the ability to be charming when he wants to be. after all is said and done, I may not have Cole back, but at least I’ll have a friend.

  “When do we start?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN