point.
“This one’s a maybe ,” she said, heading back to the fitting room. The next three dresses were equally stunning on Sarah. The first was a black strapless stretch satin with a layered ruffle bodice and long, slim skirt. Succeeding this was a white, charmeuse strapless with a looped bodice and a flared skirt. Last up was an agave-colored satin, floor-length V-neck with an asymmetrical skirt. The draped bodice hugged her curves so well she looked poured into it. Something about the greenish hue perfectly offset her auburn hair, and the thirty-degree angle at which the sleeves tilted away from her collarbone spawned visions of gently pushing those sleeves off her shoulders in search of underlying treasure. She was mesmerizing. I turned away and studied the exit.
A moment later, she was standing with her back in front of me.
“Unzip me.”
The quiet demand made my pulse race. I stood. My mouth was mere inches from her neck, and as she lifted her hair to give me better access to the zipper, I caught her delicate, jasmine fragrance, which enticed me to lean closer. My eyes wandered over her neck and shoulders, and I had the sudden urge to replace my eyes with my mouth. Sarah’s skin was flawless and exquisite, and, inexplicably, I wanted to taste it. Yet as soon as the carnal thought surfaced, I resolved to eradicate it. No matter how enticing she was, I was her friend, nothing more. Not wishing to make an unwanted advance or take advantage of the situation, I reined in my atypical licentiousness and silently complied.
I reached up with my left hand to hold the top of the fabric. Though I tried not to touch her, as I grabbed the zipper with my right hand, the fingertips of my left accidentally brushed the skin below her neck. As my fingers grazed her, she shivered. I did grant myself a margin of leeway, pretending to give careful consideration to the delicate fabric by taking my time to lower the zipper down her back, allowing myself a few moments to soak in her closeness. I held the left side of the dress so it wouldn’t fall off her shoulder. After I finished, her right hand reached up to hold the dress on and she placed her left hand gently over mine to take over. She turned her chin in my direction, whispered “Thanks,” and headed back toward her fitting room.
Being so close to Sarah and—for God’s sake—undressing her, had been equal parts delightful, overwhelming, and unnerving. I was glad to have some time to pull myself together.
Done with her fashion show, Sarah reentered the hexagon wearing her street clothes and hung the dresses on the return racks.
“I don’t suppose you have a favorite?” she asked.
I swallowed hard and shook my head.
“Could you be any less helpful?” she teased me.
“I told you I’m not much of a shopper.”
“You have eyes, don’t you?”
Eyes and hands and lusts and fantasies and other feelings I shouldn’t, yes.
“Let’s go. I want frozen yogurt,” she said as she seamlessly zigzagged through the displays toward the escalator.
Seated across from each other at a plastic circular table in the food court, spooning frozen yogurt into our mouths, Sarah eyed me inquisitively.
“What did you think of those two women who saw you in that black dress?”
“What about them?”
“What did you think about what they said? About how you looked?”
“They were being polite.”
“You think they were disingenuous?”
“I wouldn’t say disingenuous, exactly. Just…like I said, polite.”
“How do you think you looked, now that we’ve removed ‘ridiculous’ from the available adjectives?”
I shrugged. “Serviceable, I guess.”
“Not horrible?”
“No.”
“Pretty?” Sarah asked, as if fishing for something.
I shifted on the plastic bench and my foot involuntarily began tapping the ground in a nervous tic. “I wouldn’t get carried away.”
“But you agree you looked good,” she said, more of a statement than a question.
“I agree
“This one’s a maybe ,” she said, heading back to the fitting room. The next three dresses were equally stunning on Sarah. The first was a black strapless stretch satin with a layered ruffle bodice and long, slim skirt. Succeeding this was a white, charmeuse strapless with a looped bodice and a flared skirt. Last up was an agave-colored satin, floor-length V-neck with an asymmetrical skirt. The draped bodice hugged her curves so well she looked poured into it. Something about the greenish hue perfectly offset her auburn hair, and the thirty-degree angle at which the sleeves tilted away from her collarbone spawned visions of gently pushing those sleeves off her shoulders in search of underlying treasure. She was mesmerizing. I turned away and studied the exit.
A moment later, she was standing with her back in front of me.
“Unzip me.”
The quiet demand made my pulse race. I stood. My mouth was mere inches from her neck, and as she lifted her hair to give me better access to the zipper, I caught her delicate, jasmine fragrance, which enticed me to lean closer. My eyes wandered over her neck and shoulders, and I had the sudden urge to replace my eyes with my mouth. Sarah’s skin was flawless and exquisite, and, inexplicably, I wanted to taste it. Yet as soon as the carnal thought surfaced, I resolved to eradicate it. No matter how enticing she was, I was her friend, nothing more. Not wishing to make an unwanted advance or take advantage of the situation, I reined in my atypical licentiousness and silently complied.
I reached up with my left hand to hold the top of the fabric. Though I tried not to touch her, as I grabbed the zipper with my right hand, the fingertips of my left accidentally brushed the skin below her neck. As my fingers grazed her, she shivered. I did grant myself a margin of leeway, pretending to give careful consideration to the delicate fabric by taking my time to lower the zipper down her back, allowing myself a few moments to soak in her closeness. I held the left side of the dress so it wouldn’t fall off her shoulder. After I finished, her right hand reached up to hold the dress on and she placed her left hand gently over mine to take over. She turned her chin in my direction, whispered “Thanks,” and headed back toward her fitting room.
Being so close to Sarah and—for God’s sake—undressing her, had been equal parts delightful, overwhelming, and unnerving. I was glad to have some time to pull myself together.
Done with her fashion show, Sarah reentered the hexagon wearing her street clothes and hung the dresses on the return racks.
“I don’t suppose you have a favorite?” she asked.
I swallowed hard and shook my head.
“Could you be any less helpful?” she teased me.
“I told you I’m not much of a shopper.”
“You have eyes, don’t you?”
Eyes and hands and lusts and fantasies and other feelings I shouldn’t, yes.
“Let’s go. I want frozen yogurt,” she said as she seamlessly zigzagged through the displays toward the escalator.
Seated across from each other at a plastic circular table in the food court, spooning frozen yogurt into our mouths, Sarah eyed me inquisitively.
“What did you think of those two women who saw you in that black dress?”
“What about them?”
“What did you think about what they said? About how you looked?”
“They were being polite.”
“You think they were disingenuous?”
“I wouldn’t say disingenuous, exactly. Just…like I said, polite.”
“How do you think you looked, now that we’ve removed ‘ridiculous’ from the available adjectives?”
I shrugged. “Serviceable, I guess.”
“Not horrible?”
“No.”
“Pretty?” Sarah asked, as if fishing for something.
I shifted on the plastic bench and my foot involuntarily began tapping the ground in a nervous tic. “I wouldn’t get carried away.”
“But you agree you looked good,” she said, more of a statement than a question.
“I agree
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