by Ivy Smoak
“Sometimes I wear pajamas all day instead.”
Kristen laughed. “True. At least you’re out of your depressing phase. But can we still watch Project Runway tonight?”
“Yes. The answer to that is always yes.”
“The next challenge looks so freaking good. Who knew bathing suits were so hard to make?”
“Right?” I started to walk over to the couch.
“Wait, we still have to pick your outfit. Work first, play second.”
“I already told you what I was going to wear.”
“And unless you want me to murder you in your sleep, you’re going to pick out a better outfit than that.”
“You’re scary sometimes.”
“Only because I love you. Now try this one.” She tossed a much more suitable sundress at me. But it was still a dress, and it seemed way too fancy for an afternoon of shopping. “Can’t we stick to my closet?”
“Are you saying you don’t like the way I dress?”
Only she could turn my question into an insult on her. “That’s not…”
“Good.” She pulled out several more outfits. “Time for a runway show. Strut your stuff and I’ll judge you like Nina Garcia.”
I was currently wearing something I’d be very comfortable in tomorrow. Minus the bathing suit of course. I started walking in my best runway model strut. “How about this?” I reached her and put my hand on my hip.
“You look like you woke up in a sewer,” she said with a surprisingly spot-on Colombian accent for Nina Garcia. “What is it that you’re wearing, exactly? Trash? Only a sewer rat would be caught dead in that ensemble.”
“Why are you so good at that? And stop saying that my outfit is from the sewer.”
“And the styling…what happened with the styling?” she continued with the accent.
I laughed. “Stop, you’re freaking me out.”
“What? Did you run out of time?” She was still perfectly in character. “You should have used the Lord & Taylor wall more thoughtfully. I can’t look at this girl any longer.”
I picked a pillow up off the couch and threw it at her.
She caught it with a laugh. “Sorry, I’ll stop. I was weirdly good at that though, right?”
“Creepily so.”
“Maybe I should get a job in fashion.” She pulled the pillow to her chest as she collapsed backward onto the couch. “Try on at least a few outfits I picked out. Please? And then I’ll be able to peacefully focus on Swatch and Tim Gunn.” She cleared her throat. “This is a make it work moment, Mila,” she said in a pretty awful Tim Gunn voice this time. At least she wasn’t good at both voices. That would have just been weird.
I laughed and looked at all the ridiculous garments she had pulled. I wanted my lifeguard to like me for me. And nothing on the couch screamed “me.” But if it appeased Kristen, I’d try on a few. Besides, she wouldn’t be here when I left tomorrow. She’d never know what I wore.
“Fine,” I said. “But we get to eat lots of ice cream during the show after this torture.” I may have been finished moping around, but I was pretty sure I was now addicted to binge eating ice cream every night.
“Deal. But, Mila, you need to hurry,” she said in her bad Tim Gunn voice again. “We’re going to the runway now!”
Chapter 8
Saturday
I changed my shirt for the fifth time. Kristen had gotten into my head about my outfit and I’d spent all morning obsessing until the point where I decided I hated everything in my closet. But what I wore didn’t matter at all. I was thinking too much. My lifeguard and I were just friends. That was it.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. A tank top was a tank top. Which was kind of Kristen’s point. It was tempting to go to my closet and pull out a few dresses, but I knew that I was being ridiculous. I blamed the butterflies in my stomach. They were betraying my mind. We’re just friends, butterflies. Fly away. Or stay. Oy vey. I laughed out loud at the weird rhyming in my head. Oh God, I’m losing my mind. Maybe the butterflies had scattered and some had gotten stuck to my brain. I shook my head, like that would fix the problem.
A knock sounded on my door. My heartbeat kicked up a notch. Calm down. I leaned closer to the mirror to check my makeup one last time. I added a bit more mascara, grabbed my purse as I rushed through the apartment, and opened the door.
My lifeguard was leaning against my doorframe with his arms crossed. He looked like sex on a stick. I had only ever seen him in his lifeguard swim trunks. He had ditched the sunglass and was wearing khaki shorts and a tight V-neck shirt. His eyes matched his shirt and I had the strangest sensation that I wanted to maul him.
“Hey,” I tried to say casually, but it came out breathless after my rush over to the door. I needed to start exercising, I was truly out of shape. Or maybe I was breathless because of him.
He smiled and looked over my shoulder. "Nice place."
"Oh, thanks." I stepped to the side to block his view of the clothes strewn all over the studio apartment. If he was waiting for an invitation in, that was 100 percent not going to happen. I wasn’t sure if I knew how to keep my hands to myself, so being alone with him was out of the question. You weren’t supposed to touch friends inappropriately. Even sexy ones.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Mhm." I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. Luckily he didn’t reach for my hand or anything. If he had, I probably would have melted into a puddle at his feet. Instead of turning into liquid, I walked down the wooden steps after him.
There was a motorcycle parked in the driveway and I almost felt compelled to roll my eyes. Of course he rides a motorcycle. Because his current hotness level wasn’t already off the charts.
He grabbed a helmet off the seat. "Have you ever been on one?" he asked and handed it to me.
"No, I haven’t. But I've always wanted to." My mother had warned me at a young age that only bad boys rode motorcycles. Boys that I shouldn’t get tied up with. Not that her love life could be trusted. She’d probably dated more men than she could ever remember. Including said motorcycle guy where her advice had originated. And honestly, being a good girl hadn’t exactly landed me in a good place. My life was in shambles.
All my own issues rolling around in my head came to a stop when I thought back to my mother’s warning. What the heck did she even mean by boys I shouldn’t get tied up with? What kind of kinky stuff was my mom into? God, why am I thinking about this?
"It's your lucky day then." He picked up another helmet and put it on.
It did feel like my lucky day, and I was glad he was here to distract me from my overactive imagination. Besides, how much of a bad boy could he be? He was wearing a helmet, so he was at least practical. I pulled my helmet on and fumbled with the straps.
"Here, let me." He clipped the straps together and then looked into my eyes as he tightened the cords.
I gulped. The way he was looking at me made my whole body feel warm. I was glad I remembered deodorant or I’d be a few seconds away from embarrassing pit stains.
He let go of the straps and got onto the motorcycle. "Hop on," he said.
I climbed on behind him and held my breath. Was I supposed to grab onto him? Would I fall off if I didn’t? Just grab him. Get it over with. I lifted one arm and right before I touched him, I pulled back. Maybe you only had to hold on to the person in front of you in movies. Like a romantic thing. And this was a friend date. It wasn’t like I’d go flying off the back of it. I could just lean forward a little without actually touching him.
He laughed and turned his head. "You have to hold on to me."
Well, since he was offering…I wrapped my arms around him right away. I could feel his abs through his shirt. This really is the best day ever.
He started the engine and the motorcycle roared to life. "Hold on tight!" he said as he pulled out of the driveway. As soon as the front wheel hit the pavement he really hit the gas.
I screamed and gripped him tighter.<
br />
He responded by accelerating even more.
If I hadn’t been holding on to him, I would have flown off the back of the motorcycle and onto the car behind us. The way they showed it in movies was exactly right. I needed to hold on for dear life. And the fact that his ab muscles seemed to tense beneath my fingertips was a very nice added bonus.
I pressed the side of my head against his back and watched as the houses flew by. I felt alive when I was with him. It was the same feeling I had when I was in the water with him the other night. That I wanted to cling to him and never let go. I had wasted so much time believing that life had taken a crap on me and feeling sorry for myself about it. But maybe I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Right here on the back of a motorcycle about to be tied up with a bad boy. As friends.
The ride ended far too soon. He pulled smoothly into a parking spot and pulled off his helmet. I was still holding on to him.
"So how was your first time?" he asked and looked over his shoulder at me. He put his hand on top of mine.
"So much fun. Why does anyone ever drive a car?"
"Probably so that they can go shopping and have a place to put stuff.” He got off the motorcycle. "Did I mention that I'm just going to abandon you here after we're done?"
I laughed. “That would be very ungentlemanly of you.”
He unstrapped my helmet for me, taking his time. He’d practically held my hand a few seconds ago. And now he was staring at me in that way again. It felt too intimate. Or maybe perfectly intimate. Which was why it had to stop.
I cleared my throat. “Stranding your friend at the outlets would also so be a very rude thing to do. Especially a new friend.” I pulled the helmet off and handed it to him. As he put it down, I quickly ran my fingers through my hair to make sure it didn't look crazy. "And it would also be an awful way to repay me for helping you."
"We'll see how the day goes I guess.”
"Don't you dare leave me here," I said and lightly nudged his arm.
"I would never leave you." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked over at one of the signs.
I would never leave you. The words repeated in my head like they were lyrics in a super lazy and repetitive chorus. Why was he making it so hard to just be his friend? I would never leave you. My heart couldn’t even handle the sweetness after the months it spent turning sour and bitter. I knew he just meant it in a today way. Like he wasn’t going to abandon me in the middle of a parking lot just because he needed space for his purchases. But it still felt nice to here. Especially after how Aiden treated me. And my dad too. I would never leave you. My throat suddenly felt like it was constricting, like I was holding back tears. Do not cry on this friend date, Mila. Do not make this weird.
"So, where to?" he asked.
"Um..." Thank you for another perfect distraction. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and willed it to stay away. I hadn't really thought today through. I had never gone clothes shopping with a guy before. The only store I knew on the sign that had men's clothing was Express. "This way," I said.
We walked together into the store and into the men's section. "What size pants do you wear?" I asked.
"Medium."
"No, I mean like the number size."
He shrugged his shoulders.
I laughed. "This is going to be a long afternoon."
We walked around and grabbed some work-appropriate things. I stood outside the dressing room and waited for him. He said he would never leave me. Why had he said that? Of course he would leave me. All we had was this one summer together. I was beginning to think that every relationship was limited. Nothing was forever. Relationships were as fleeting as the summer sun.
When he came out, I couldn't help but laugh. The dress pants were too short, but the collared shirt fit really well.
"You're pretty terrible at this," he said with a smile.
"Actually, you look very trendy. Besides, you have other pants back there that are longer. I was trying to figure out your size. Come here."
He walked over to me. I rolled up the sleeves on his dress shirt so that his muscular forearms showed. He had looked good before, but now? He was going to go off to his fancy new job and get a new girlfriend in a snap. The thought turned my stomach.
"This shirt looks really good on you,” I said. “Don't I get any credit for that?"
"It's uncomfortable."
"What do you mean it’s uncomfortable?” I had just touched it and the fabric felt fine to me. “It's just a normal shirt." I reached behind his neck and looked at the collar. "It's 100% cotton."
"I'd rather wear a t-shirt."
I laughed. "You're acting like I'm forcing you to buy clothes like this. I'm just here to help."
He smiled at me.
"Go try again."
He pretended to sulk back into the dressing room. He was so cute. When he came back out the next time, he had completely abandoned the idea of a shirt. He just had on the same pants and a tie.
I laughed. "What are you doing?"
"What, is this not work appropriate?" He turned around in a circle. "I think I look pretty great."
"I didn't say you didn't look good. But it's not suitable office attire." His muscles were distracting. And he actually looked amazing. Business casual should be replaced with the outfit he was rocking.
"This is ridiculous. I don't know what I'm doing,” he said. “Just come in here with me."
"It's the men's changing room," I said in a hushed voice.
He looked both ways. "Yeah, well, no one's looking." He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the dressing room. He closed the door to his stall and locked it.
"We're going to get in so much trouble." My heart was beating so fast that it was all I could hear. But I wasn’t really worried about the store’s security. I was more nervous about being in a confined space with him. Where he’d be stripping. I closed my eyes for a second. Stripping? Really? I was making this weird and it didn’t have to be. I opened my eyes again. Nope. I was going to get in trouble. But not with the store’s security. I was in so much trouble with him.
"It's not like we're going to bang in here,” he said. “You're just helping me pick out some clothes. The worst that could happen is they'll ask us to leave. You need to learn to live a little."
I crossed my arms. "I rode a motorcycle today and I'm in a men's changing room. I think I'm doing fine."
"Yeah, but you only did those things because of me."
"So?"
He shrugged. "I think you need me. That's all. Now close your eyes again so I can change."
I sat down on the bench in the changing room and closed my eyes. I heard his pants unzip. And then the awkward sound of me swallowing wrong. A strange squeaky noise that I barely recognized came from me. Jesus, Mila, it’s not the first time you’ve heard a man unzip his pants before. You’ve seen a penis. Why did my mind automatically go to his dick? But now that I was thinking about it, it was so very hard to stop. It was so tempting to take a peek, but somehow I mastered the art of restraint and kept my eyes closed.
"Okay," he said.
I opened my eyes. He was just wearing his boxer briefs. One of his legs was up on the bench I was sitting on. He was posing in the most ridiculous way, with his hands behind his head.
"Oh my God." I picked up a shirt and tossed it at him. I couldn't help but notice the bulge in his boxers since I had been obsessing over it a few seconds ago.
He laughed and caught the shirt. "Now that you've seen me almost naked, you don't have to bother closing your eyes."
"I think that since I've seen you in just your underwear I deserve to know your name." I was glad I said that instead of what I really wanted to. Which was more on the lines of, “Now that I’ve seen you in just boxers you might as well just show me the package.” At least I had a filter even though my mind was being attacked by butterflies.
"Yeah, probably." He looked uncomfortable now, when a moment ago when he was posed in his underwea
r he looked as confident as could be.
"So...are you going to tell me what it is?"
"Nah."
"Oh come on."
He looked at me as he pulled on his shirt. "Well, even if I knew your name, I'd still call you Jellyfish Girl, so I'm not sure what the point is."
"You really don't want to know what my name is?"
He buttoned up his shirt. This time he rolled up the sleeves himself. "If I'm being completely honest, I already know your name."
"What? How?"
"The girl from Sweet Cravings told me when I was trying to find you." He stopped getting dressed and looked down at me. He was wearing just the shirt. It didn't matter what he wore, he was sexy as hell.
"And?"
"And I'd rather call you Jellyfish Girl than Mila. It seems a little more personal. Don't get me wrong, Mila is a very nice name. It suits you almost as well as Jellyfish Girl."
"Okay.” I could feel my cheeks turning pink. There was definitely something personal about a nickname. But that didn’t take away from the fact that I wanted to know his real name too. “It's only fair that I know your name if you know mine."
"What's to know? I'm your lifeguard."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Yeah...you did." He pulled on a pair of pants. They were the right length, but the waist was too big.
"Come on. You have to tell me."
"How do I look?" he asked, ignoring the question.
"They're too big."
He turned around and looked in the mirror. "Yeah, you're right." He started to unbutton them.
While he was distracted, I grabbed his shorts and pulled out his wallet. I opened it up.
"Wait." He turned around and tried to grab his wallet back. "Mila, come on." He grabbed my arm, but I turned around.
I quickly pulled out his driver’s license and read the name. He gripped my other arm too so that his arms were around me, trying to prevent me from looking at the driver’s license. But it was too late. I’d seen it. I was about to tell him, when I felt his pants fall, the fabric dropping between us. And then I felt him. The package that I wanted to take a peek at earlier was now pressed against my ass. I didn’t need to see it to know it was big. I was torn between being aroused and being mortified. I was being hugged by a pants-less man I barely knew in a men’s changing room. A man who had quite a silly name. I turned my head to see him and started laughing because I didn’t know what else to do.