Page 22 of Hold the Pickle
“You can have the closet. I don’t need much space.”
“Okay.” I unzip the bag and pull out the first dress I see, a shimmery black number I wore to a charity ball with my brother Axel. He’s always going to those things.
Dalton’s eyes go wide. “That’s what you wear to clubs?”
“It’s LA.” I try to say it with conviction, as if I haven’t spent every weekend since I got here in my room at Max’s house with Catzilla. Speaking of which, where is she?
I lean down and peer under the bed again. After a moment, I make out the glint in her eyes. “Oh, sweet kitty,” I say. “You can come out.”
“I feel bad that she’s scared of me.”
“She’ll adjust, eventually. She started warming up to Max after a week or so.” I tap the floor, but Catzilla only watches me from her corner.
“Maybe I can bribe her to come out. What does she like? Tuna? Milk?”
“Catzilla isn’t motivated by food. Never has been.”
“Then she hasn’t had your lasagna.”
Huh, another compliment. I return to the suitcase, drag out a pair of black heels, then close it up and roll the whole thing into the closet. It barely fits.
“You can have the mirror cabinet in the bathroom, too,” Dalton says with another yawn. “I’ll keep things in my bag.”
“You sure?”
He nods, and his eyes blink longer and longer.
Maybe if he falls asleep, I won’t have to keep up the ruse that I’m going out.
But he pulls out his phone. “You have fun.”
I head into the bathroom. I’m not sure where I will go all gussied up. Definitely not to Max’s. He’ll ask too many questions, and I’ll crack.
I guess I could get coffee at a diner. And read. There are more books in my Jeep.
I change into the dress and turn to the mirror. My messy bun and lack of makeup do not match whatsoever. I guess I’ll do the whole thing.
I quickly add a smoky eye and hurried contour. I let my hair down, brushing it out. I don’t want to take time to curl it. Besides, it practically cries out in pain when I try to take it out of its iron-straight default mode.
I part it down the middle and let it fall in a long, loose cascade. With the dramatic eye, it works.
The shoes add four inches to my height. I smooth the fitted dress over my hips. Is this what it’s going to be like whenever Dalton and I have a bed conflict?
I’ll figure it out. That’s something I can do at the diner. Determine if we can fit a hideaway bed somewhere, just for nights like this. Maybe if we leave the closet empty, it can be stowed in there.
I open the door quietly, half expecting him to be asleep already.
But he’s tapping on his phone.
“I’m heading out,” I say.
When he looks up, his whole body goes still. I recognize the interest in his eyes. He’s seeing me the same way he did when we met.
He swallows hard. “Oh, hey, yeah. You clean up.”
“It can’t be all deli shirts and jeans.” I fidget with my dress, not sure I can handle him looking at me the way he is. It’s like he’s a wolf, and I’m a little white rabbit frozen in the grass.
“Will you be out all night?” he asks.
