Page 2 of Catch You


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“Yes! I can’t wait to hear him say my name.” She swoons, getting this far-off look in her eyes.

I shouldn’t be surprised—she’s been telling me about him for quite a few weeks now and trying to convince Milo to introduce them.

“You mean moan your name,” I mutter.

“Harlow, I’m not some easy piece of ass, you know.”

“Really?” I ask, my brows lifting, my lips curling in amusement.

“Okay, so maybe I am, but only for the right guy.”

“Riiight.”

She gets up from her seat and walks toward her wardrobe, thankfully pulling her ridiculously short dress down in the process so I don’t have a front-row seat to her easy ass.

“Now, let’s see what I’ve got.”

“Oh no, B. You’re not getting me in one of your dresses. They barely fit you; they’ll never cover my ass and tits.”

“Have faith, girl. Have faith.”

Sadly, I have little. I love Brooke, but she has questionable taste at times. Our styles are opposite in every way—not just with how much skin we deem acceptable to expose.

“Yessss!” she squeals, and my stomach drops into my heels. “This will look killer on you.”

She pulls out a scrap of navy fabric and holds it up in front of me with a wide smile on her face.

“You won’t catch me dead wearing that.”

“Just try it on. It’s a little big for me.” I don’t see how that’s possible, considering it looks like it’s a size zero from this distance, but I keep my mouth shut. “It’ll be perfect. And,” she adds, an idea hitting her, “it might help with your little …situation.”

“I’m not in the middle of anything,” I protest. “And like you just said, we’re going out with the team.” I swipe the hanger from her because I already know that fighting her on this is pointless. I may as well just try it on, prove it doesn’t fit, and then hope she’ll allow me to revisit my wardrobe for a dress that might actually cover what God gave me.

“There will be other guys there, too. It’s been what? A year since a guy so much as touched you?”

It’s been almost a year and a half since my last failed attempt at a date, but I refrain from correcting her.

I shimmy my jeans down my legs and carefully pull my blouse off before laying them out over Brooke’s bed. “What?” I ask when she shakes her head at me.

“You know it is okay to sometimes leave clothes in a pile on the floor, right?”

I roll my eyes, and she hands me the dress once I’m in only my underwear.

Deciding that pulling it up might be the easiest option, I step into the fabric and attempt to drag it over my hips. The material has more stretch than I gave it credit for, because it skims happily over my curves. I pull the straps up my arms and put them into place over my shoulders before looking down.

“Okay, you aresowearing that. Have you seen your ass?”

“Weirdly, no,” I sass, looking over my shoulder at the mirror behind me. I can’t deny that the fabric hugs it pretty nicely.

“You gotta lose the bra, though.”

“Nope. Not happening.”

Brooke’s hip juts out and she rests her hand on it as she stares at me in a ‘go on, try and argue’ way. “There’s enough support in the dress.”

“I’m sure it’ll hold them up just fine. I’m more worried about flashing someone.”

“Making your mission a sure success.”