Chapter 20
TWENTY
QUINN
“I’m too hot,” I mutter to myself, staring into my mirror. The black dress I have on is doing all types of glorious things for my boobs and my waist and my hips.
Damn. I look good.
Which is kind of the problem.
For this date with August, I need an outfit that says … Don’t bother looking anywhere else because I’m the sexiest thing in this room, but don’t try to have sex with me because I might set the building on fire.
It’s a hard line to balance on.
“Oh, I love that dress.” Cat drops her bag outside my door and comes to stand beside me in front of the mirror. The sack full of her tutoring materials sags in defeat, and I feel a kinship with the thing.
“Yeah. It’s a great dress. Too great. Forget August. I want to take me to bed.” My hands trail over the perfectly tailored piece. Despite the material reaching my knees, the way this garment outlines every curve I have is indecent.
“Got it. You’re looking for subtle sexy. I think I can help.”
Cat jogs from the room, and I pin my hopes on her. While I wait, I slip my feet into the peep-toe pumps.
“Goddess, I’m not even trying. I’m a masochist. Or an arsonist.” Because I seem hell-bent on starting a fire tonight.
When my sister returns a minute later, I’m still checking myself out in the mirror, as if I’ll find the exact right angle to make this dress work. Or not work.
Maybe if I walk hunched over, like a gremlin …
“Found it! You need my sexiest cardigan,” Cat announces.
She said the words as if they make sense. But they don’t.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“This is one of my sexiest cardigans.” My sister pulls on the garment and starts striking some poses, as if I just needed to see it in action to understand.
If anything, I’m more confused.
The thing is chunky and maroon, and it has done nothing in its short clothing life to deserve the moniker sexy.
At a loss, I find myself asking, “Could you explain your reasoning?”
Cat rolls her eyes at me like the answer should be obvious.
“For starters, it’s red. One of the sexiest colors.” She runs her fingers over the sleeve.
It’s maroon. Still, I nod for her to continue.
“And then look at this knit. Look how loose the pattern is!” My baby sister holds a corner of the cardigan up in front of her face, where she can easily peer at me through the weave.
She’s not wrong … exactly.
But I wouldn’t call her right either.
“And a loosely knitted cardigan is sexy because …”
“Are you kidding me?” Cat throws her arms in the air as if she were being asked to explain a simple addition equation to me. “Just imagine if I were naked under this thing. You would see my nipples.”
I would also see her nipples if she were wearing nothing but a clear plastic tarp, but that doesn’t make plastic tarps sexy.
“So”—I speak slowly, honestly trying to follow her thought process—“you’re suggesting I wear the cardigan and only the cardigan?”
My sister scoffs. “Of course not. I’m saying that August’s imagination will go wild when he sees this over the dress.”
I have to sit on the bed, feeling a little dizzy on the twisted road that is Cat’s logic. “Okay, let me see if I understand what you’re saying. You think if I wear this dress”—I gesture at my body—“with that maroon—”
“Red.”
“Fine. That red cardigan over the top, it’ll inspire August to imagine what I would look like if my dress disappeared but the cardigan remained. Do I have that right?”
Cat grins. “Exactly. It’s hot, but not too hot.”
“It’s definitely not too hot,” I mutter to myself.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I’m quick to respond. “Why don’t you leave that on my bed? I’m going to check in with Harley.”
Cat shrugs and does as she was told while I head out to the backyard.
A familiar sight greets me. My older sister being a pool mooch once again.
“Don’t you make a decent amount of money?” I ask, standing next to the lounge chair where she suns herself. My hands rest on my hips as I glare down at her. “Enough to get a place with your own pool?”
“My, my, Quinn. I never knew you to be so crass. We are well-bred young ladies. We do not discuss such vulgar things as money.”
My eyes roll on their own. “If I couldn’t discuss money, then I couldn’t do my job. And stop pretending like you’re some innocent Southern belle. I’m surprised you’ve yet to tan topless.”
A wicked smile curls her lips. “What a delightful idea.”
She moves a hand to reach behind her, and I lunge forward, grabbing her wrists.
“No way in hell. Take your tits out at your own place.”
Harley smirks. “You’re right. I wouldn’t want to show you these beautiful globes of perfectness right before your date. Might give you a complex.”
“Someone thinks highly of themselves.” I retreat a step. “You know, I came out here for your help. But you’re making asking for advice super unappealing.”
My big sister waves a dismissive hand. “Ask away. Tell me your woes.”
“This dress.” I move back farther so she can judge the whole look. “What do you think?”
Her chin dips and rises as she scans the outfit. “I don’t expect you’ll be wearing it for long. August will want to rip that number off you. With his teeth.”
“Damn.” I plop down on the lounge chair across from hers. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Not seeing the problem. I thought you liked the guy.”
“I do. A lot. But I want to get better control of my powers before we fool around again. And if he’s giving me fuck me eyes all night, combustion is guaranteed.”
“Then why’d you think that dress was an option?”
I can’t help my petulant shrug. “Because this is a date and I still want him to think I’m attractive.”
“Ah. Balancing act. I see how it is.” Harley snaps the bubble gum she’s been chewing as she ponders my predicament. “Why don’t you borrow one of Cat’s sex doesn’t interest me cardigans?”
Our little sister storms out from the house at that moment. “I’m totally interested in sex! And look at this one.” She twirls in front of us, triumph on her flushed face. “It’s black. And formfitting. There are thousands of people who would fuck me in this. Hundreds of thousands!”
Harley lowers her sunglasses to the tip of her nose, gaze running over Cat. Then she snorts and goes back to reclining. “They’d fuck you because you’re hot. They’d fuck you in spite of the cardigan.”
Steam starts to rise from my little sister’s head. But then she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and all indication that her power was taking over disappears.
I envy her control.
“Whatever the reasoning”—Cat speaks, her voice steady, if slightly strained—“it sounds like both Harley and I say that a cardigan is the answer.”
“Fine,” I mumble. “I guess that maroon one’ll work.”
“It’s red.”
Doesn’t matter if it’s Technicolor. As long as it keeps me from setting the restaurant on fire, then the dick deflater is doing its job.