Page 85 of Broken Saint
“My life just imploded,” I say absently. “I don’t have any intention of walking away from that disaster and straight into something potentially serious with Colt. It’s not happening.”
They don’t answer for a few seconds, but eventually, Letty caves.
“But it’s Colt. You’ve wanted this forever.”
Yeah, I have. But just like most dreams, they’re unreachable, unrealistic, and better left to your imagination.
“No, absolutely not. There is no way that I’m?—”
“Trying it on,” Peyton finishes for me, grabbing my size from the rack and throwing it over my arm with the other dresses they’ve both picked for me.
Anything I’ve suggested has been ignored. All the nice, pretty, safe dresses for the curvier me in favor of the sexier, smaller, more risqué options I’d have chosen back in college. But no amount of argument is changing their minds.
“In you go,” Letty says, pressing her hand between my shoulder blades and pushing me into the dressing room.
Peyton hangs all the dresses up on the hook and warns, “We want to see every single one on you,” before pulling the curtain closed.
“The black one we just picked up. One hundred percent,” Letty says.
“Yeah, or the blue one. That one’s killer, and bonus, one of the Saint’s colors. Colt would get a kick out of that.”
“True. I guess we’re about to find out.” Letty muses.
“El, you naked yet?” Peyton calls, making me sigh.
I stare at the dresses, my stomach churning at the thought of trying to peel them up my body.
The progress on my body confidence that Colton’s scorching touch and burning stare helped make last night has been waning with every step I’ve taken in the mall.
Being with my girls is great in so many ways, but I look at them probably still wearing the same size as we did back in college and I can’t help feeling down on myself.
These dresses…they’re stunning. But they’re “old me” dresses.
Colton will love them, a little voice pipes up in the depths of my brain.
Try them on for him, if not for you.
Squaring my shoulders, I shed my maxi skirt and loose tank top and stand there in just my underwear.
It isn’t sexy by any stretch of the word. Nothing I wear these days is. What’s the point when no matter how hard you try, you’re told you’re not good enough? Not pretty enough, not skinny enough, not sexy enough?
Ugh.
Pulling the least terrifying dress from the hanger, I tug it up my body, and without looking in the mirror, I fling the curtain back.
My heart is in my throat as they both study me.
“Nope. Not the one. Get back in there,” Peyton demands.
Doing as I’m told, I strip it off without even looking and grab the next.
The following three all get the same response. But with each one I try on, I get braver and spend a little longer looking in the mirror.
By the time I slide on the black one that Peyton loves, I’m feeling a little better.
These dresses all might be a fraction of the size of the clothes I wear now, but Peyton and Letty know what they’re doing. They all fit perfectly and suck me in in all the right places.
“Yes, girl. Now that is what I’m talking about,” Peyton announces so loudly the shop assistant comes running in like someone lit her ass on fire.