Chapter 12
The Closet of Horrors
Wyatt
“Um... could you help put my bandage back on?” Caroline asked. “In an entirely professional way,” she added, her voice thick with sarcasm.
Sure enough, Caroline’s bandage had fallen off her left knee sometime during our electrifying kiss.
But I couldn’t touch her again, not so soon.
That kiss was a major deviation from my game plan.
I had no good explanation of what came over me, except years of pent-up yearning and Caroline sitting on my kitchen counter, running her finger over my lip, asking for a kiss.
Had I just upended all the careful plans I’d made with Jane and Charlie? We had decided that I needed to give Caroline time; give her a chance to trust me, rely on me. Fifteen minutes in my apartment, and I couldn’t keep my hands off her. This was not going to work. I had no idea what to do next.
Normally, when I kiss a girl, that marks the beginning of a serious relationship.
Despite what Greg might have told Caroline, I was not a player.
I had never dated someone for less than a year.
Ask any of my exes. I was an excellent boyfriend.
I gravitated toward steady, no-drama personalities.
Not sure what I was doing, setting my sights on Caroline Bingham. But here we were.
My instincts were to settle everything right away, lay it all out there.
Promise Caroline everything—the ring, the cradle, the house, and the summer vacations.
But Charlie and Jane had warned me that if I did that, if I even suggested we date exclusively, Caroline would run scared.
I suspected that’s what had happened after we hugged in the garage.
She freaked out and ghosted me for a week.
She might still ghost me when this was all over.
But I was going to give it my best shot.
“You’re right,” she said, getting out a legal notepad. “We need to be professional. Let’s agree that did not happen...”
“Nothing happened,” I repeated.
“And we’ll never mention it again.”
“Nothing to mention.”
“Or kiss again,” she said, her eyes finally reaching mine.
“Only if you beg me.” She rolled her eyes, and I exhaled. We were almost back to our friendly, comfortable pre-kiss banter.
Ignoring my comment, she continued, “First things first. I’m going to schedule you a haircut.”
“I kind of like this mullet. If I cut it, I think I should get something in exchange. I have an idea!” I teased. “You should get a mullet, too. We could have matching mullets.”
“No, thank you, I prefer not looking hideous.”
“I think you’d look hot with a mullet.” I meant that. But then again, I would like Caroline no matter what. I just really liked her. “You’re wrong about this mullet. I’ve never received so many compliments after a haircut.”
“That mullet is like a car accident. It’s so bad people can’t look away and then they feel guilty for staring. So they quickly lie and say they like your haircut.”
“Mmm... you didn’t seem to mind.” I raised my eyebrows suggestively. I was pushing my luck. But I couldn’t resist. I lived for her look of outrage.
“I’m not being paid enough for this.” She huffed. “I’m scheduling you a haircut for tomorrow. Are you available at nine?”
That time was not ideal, but I agreed to it. I knew Caroline would hate the mullet. But I hadn’t expected so much fury, and I felt bad about her scraped knees. I had already been a handful, and she hadn’t even seen my closet yet.
“Great! We have that scheduled,” she said, looking up, smiling from her phone. “Let’s tackle your closet. It shouldn’t take long. You have so little.”
“Ah . . . but I went shopping.”
Her eyes flicked to my pants and then back to my face. “I noticed the new jeans. What other treats do you have in store for me?”
“So many.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. Then followed me into my closet.
“Wyatt! What have you done?” She stood amid my now overflowing closet.
I had been busy. I spent the weekend shopping at thrift stores, truck stops, and friends’ closets.
Charlie and Jane contributed to the fun.
They each brought me a few choice articles from their father’s closets, including a snazzy star suit that had belonged to Jane’s father.
A white suit with navy blue stars. Apparently, he wore it with a red tie the day he was sworn in as a U.S. citizen.
“You said I didn’t have enough clothes.” I deadpanned.
Caroline quietly surveyed the plethora of sports jerseys, flannels, and polyester golf polos, then narrowed her eyes.
“You know perfectly well that you aren’t being helpful.” She began pulling the most offensive shirts off the shelf. “A pirate shirt?” She held up a white shirt with billowy sleeves. “Where did you find a pirate shirt?”
I had no idea. Jane found it. One of her friends has a mom who designs costumes for a community theater.
When I told Jane and Charlie about my plan, Charlie quickly rattled off Caroline’s many maxims for how not to dress.
One was: “Don’t wear anything in public you might wear to a Renaissance fair. ”
She pulled out a large rodeo belt buckle that I found at a consignment shop.
“No! No big belt buckles. Never wear anything that draws attention to your crotch.”
“So no Speedos?”
“No Speedos. I dove in high school. I’ve been subjected to enough Speedos for a lifetime.”
“I had no idea you were such a prude.”
Caroline made a face. “I prefer the word classy.” She continued to rifle through the Closet of Horrors. “Also, you should have guessed I was a prude.” She pointed to her pearl earrings. “My favorite accessories are my grandma’s pearls.”
“True.”
I had never thought of Caroline as prudish. Classy, yes, maybe even snobby. But not prudish. Could anyone who kisses with such wild abandon be prudish? I considered commenting on that. But I kept my mouth shut—no need to antagonize her anymore.
She picked up a camouflage jacket that I borrowed from my dad. “Absolutely not! It just says, ‘I like to kill things and that’s a core part of my personality.’”
“You certainly have a lot of strong opinions.”
“Oh! I am just getting started!” She held up some black rubber barefoot running shoes with separate toes, made a face, and tossed them into the fast-growing “Destroy!” pile.
“How did you get so many offensive items in one place?” She sat down on the bench, a pile of the ugliest shirts on her lap. “These have to be some of the worst tops known to civilization.”
“Wait! You haven’t seen them on yet.” I whipped off my shirt. To my amusement, she again covered her face with her hands. I pulled on a striped polyester golf shirt I found at a gas station.
“How do I look?”
“Um... did you even look at the size when you bought that?”
Admittedly, the size small was skin tight, and the sleeves restricted my arms. I flexed my pecks.
“Just showing off my assets.”
“Ew! No! Never do that again! You’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”
“How am I doing?”
“Seriously? I’m impressed. You’ve checked off all of my men’s fashion pet peeves in one closet. You’re an evil genius.”
I took a dramatic bow.
“But it looks like you need a whole closet rehaul. And no time like the present. And I am not letting you go out in public in those pants.”
“Well, my favorite jeans are in my room.” To prevent them from being mixed up in the chaos, I left my jeans plus a few beloved tees folded neatly in my nightstand drawer.
“Wyatt! Look at my knees.” Caroline pointed to her bandaged and scraped-up knees. “You did this to me. I won’t be able to wear short skirts for months. You will be wearing something from this closet.”
Well, that backfired fast.
“Since you just bought all of these clothes, you must really like them. There must be something in here you’d like to wear,” she said innocently.
“I love them all,” I answered in a very unconvincing voice. “Why else would I own these clothes?”
I opened a drawer and pulled out the red plaid pajama bottoms that Charlie loaned me.
Personally, I sleep in my briefs or my joggers when it’s chilly.
But Charlie said that Caroline hated men wearing flannel pajamas in public.
“These pajamas are chill.” They really were. I wouldn’t mind being seen in them.
“Those are fine, as long as you only wear them at home.” She gave me a forceful stare. “They might be comfortable, but why tell people that you have no respect for them or yourself?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
She placed the neatly folded pajamas back in the drawer. “So, anything else you like?” She tapped her heels with her hands on her hips. Even with her knees bandaged, she was cute.
“I love everything in my closet,” I said, trying and failing not to crack up.
“You’re a terrible liar. But don’t worry, we’re going shopping right now.”
“I’m ready.”
“No! I won’t let you go in public in those jeans. They’re indecent.”
“Okay...” I moved my hand to my top jean button.
“Not in here! You psycho!”
She spun me around and pushed me out of my closet so fast. I chuckled as she handed me a pair of cargo shorts and a white shirt. I was surprised that Caroline was okay with cargo shorts. Charlie had faithfully promised that she loathed them. With the shorts on, I shook out the shirt.
It was the billowy white pirate shirt. She couldn’t be serious. I put it on. It gaped open to a wide V below my sternum, revealing my somewhat hairy chest. There were strings on either side of the short, ruffled collar. I wondered if I should tie them.
She knocked on my door.
“You dressed?”
“I’m confused. Am I supposed to tie this?” Caroline opened the door and watched me with a crestfallen face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“That is the most ludicrous outfit in the world, and yet, somehow you pull it off.”
I checked myself out in the full-length mirror. I looked like a bloomin’ idiot.
“Not to argue with your expertise, but I’ve looked better.”
“There’s not much we can do about that mullet,” she tsked. “But that stupid ’stache almost looks purposeful with that shirt. Where did you get it?” she asked. “I must admit. I’m flattered by the lengths you went to irritate me.”
“Did it work?” I asked hopefully.
“I’m not sure what your end goal is, but I’m certainly not giving up.” She passed me some black dress socks and a pair of Birkenstocks. “To round out the outfit,” she said smugly.
“You’re trying to punish me,” I said. “But are you certain you can stomach being seen in public with a man dressed like this?”
“If we see anyone I know, I’ll be sure to explain that you’re a new client and this is our first time meeting.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to embarrass you. I have other clothes.”
“You don’t want to go out like that, do you?” asked Caroline, softening a little.
“No, I don’t,” I answered truthfully. “I really don’t.”
She broke out into a wicked grin.
“Tough luck.”