8. Viktoria
8
VIKTORIA
I nodded sagely, as if Lee had given me wise advice, and strutted back into the dressing room. Letting out a silent cackle, I high-fived my wretched reflection in the mirror. Got you, Lee . The ornaments on the antlers jingled, and I shuddered, which only made them jingle more.
I quietly cracked up all over again at the abomination of an outfit—I knew what Lee was up to. He’d thought I’d balk. I’d spied the mischief in his eyes when I’d first opened the door, but the joke was on him, or at least, it soon would be. He’d made me laugh twice now, when I hadn’t meant to. Now it was his turn.
You want to play? Let’s play.
The second I’d seen his selections, I’d twigged to his game. And I wanted to play with him. More than that, I wanted to win. So I’d cobbled together the worst outfit, anticipating his face when I waltzed out, head high. Anticipating his laughter, sudden, spontaneous. I wanted to hear that more than I wanted to argue…a foreign feeling I wasn’t keen to examine too closely.
Pulling the sweater off and dropping it in the “burn” pile, I pawed through the clothes again. Lee had been shocked for sure, and I’d caught a hint of mirth, but I needed to make him laugh out loud. To make him lose control, for one raucous moment. If I did that, I’d win, whether Lee knew the rules or not.
Throwing on a mustard-yellow Hawaiian shirt, I grimaced at the pink LUAU! plastered across it, along with cartoon pigs, ukuleles, grass skirts, green fish, and orange drink glasses. Silver sequined stretch pants no manufacturer should’ve ever produced completed the ensemble, and I slid back into my sandals and opened the door.
“For a night out on the town.” I strolled out and struck a pose. “Sensational, don’t you think?”
Lee’s eyes widened, but he caught himself and blanked his expression.
Damn! Almost had him .
“Absolutely,” he answered. “You’ll definitely stand out in a crowd.”
Head held high, I swept past him, swaying my hips as I went. I made for the clothing racks. It’s on, McCallister .
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun. The next thirty minutes were filled with the most outrageous, horrendous, eye-bleeding fashion I’d ever had the misfortune to see—and with Lee’s grunts and grimaces, as he tried not to laugh.
The salesclerk figured out what we were doing, and she joined in the fun. Clothes appeared above the door periodically, and I accepted them without a word. If anyone who knew me saw me now, they’d swear I’d had an aneurysm and rush me to the hospital. I’d always maintained a flawless public image, too concerned about embarrassing Father to really cut loose…but not today. Staring in the mirror at the latest train wreck, I was so far from my usual self I held back silent giggles. God, this felt amazing. Fun for fun’s sake, what a novel concept!
The salesclerk lost the game when I strutted out in a purple, shapeless house dress adorned with huge yellow flowers. The dress itself was an eyesore, but the accessories put it over the top: a wide-brimmed Easter bonnet, trimmed with green ribbons; a clunky, geometric-patterned pleather belt; and the coup de grace, a beaded fringe shawl that rattled when I moved.
The clerk dissolved in laughter, but my goal was Lee. Twice now, his mouth had twitched, but he’d never laughed . I wondered if that’d been part of his Ranger training—I’d seen it on YouTube; sergeants teasing soldiers with kazoos and rubber chickens, tickling them, pulling faces, until they cracked. I hadn’t packed a rubber chicken, but I had a trick or two up my sleeve yet.
Moving my ponytail to the top of my head, I teased the strands with my fingers and nodded at the results. I stuck out my elbows to puff up my top, smoothed out my leggings, and nearly chuckled, myself.
If this doesn’t get him, he’s made of stone.
I hung in the doorframe like an Old West madam, smirking as Lee turned to look. “This ensemble,” I drawled, in my sultriest tone—all the while spitting out neon ostrich feathers—“I call Cookie Monster’s love child, sired by Big Bird.” I spun, so my poncho-style top floated around me, electric blue feathers drifting to the ground. I did a high kick to show off my leggings, a virulent orange, printed with passion fruits.
Lee stared at me. “Why?”
“Because I can-can-can.” I did another high kick, and Lee’s face contorted. He clapped his hand to his mouth, but a guffaw escaped. He laughed so hard, he fell against a nearby rack, clutching his stomach, roaring out loud. I reveled in his deep, rich laughter, letting the sound fill me up to the brim. I wanted to hear it again and again. A warm, heady feeling swelled in my chest. I’d made him laugh like this, brought him this joy. And he looked so good doing it, my heart thumped harder.
“You win,” he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “That is truly horrible.”
I took a bow, getting a face full of musty poncho. It made me sneeze, and Lee only laughed harder, especially when my stomach let out an unladylike growl.
I snatched my hand from the doorframe. “Oh.” My face flamed for a second, but I was too relaxed to care. “I guess it’s time to eat.” A pang of regret shot through me. I didn’t want the silliness to end.
“Think you can find something wearable in all that, or do we need to look for real?” Lee asked, his eyes still dancing as he straightened.
“Give me two minutes.” I shut the door and unearthed a pair of tight, black leggings, decorated with cheerful swathes of color. Definitely not something I’d ever pick up on my own, but they were fun and I wanted the liberating campiness to continue. The leggings were probably supposed to be full length, but with my height, I turned them into capris. Damn, I felt sexy. Sinful even. They showed off every curve and movement of my muscles, everything I never allowed myself to show in public. Adding a basic short-sleeved top that wasn’t too tragic, I put my sandals back on, readjusted my ponytail, and opened the door.
The mirth drained from Lee’s eyes, and he snapped to attention. He stood admiring me from head to toe, his burning gaze lingering on my hips.
“Don’t worry about that stuff,” the clerk chirped, breaking the tension spooling between us. She gestured at the clothes bomb behind me. “You made my afternoon. I’ll be glad to clean up.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, forcing myself to stop staring at Lee.
“Definitely.” The clerk bounced to the cash register to ring up our total.
After we’d paid a ridiculously low price for the outfit, Lee held the door open. “Diner’s right up the street. Probably not the kind of dining you’re used to, but like I said before, it’s the town hotspot, so the food must be good.”
“Or the gossip’s even better,” I retorted with a wink. Lee paused to drop the plastic bag containing my initial outfit back in the car, and then we strolled on.
“Gossip, huh?” Lee pulled a wry face. “Never thought about that.” He pointed at me, brightening up. “I’m trying to imagine you eating a hamburger… Uh-uh. Can’t see it. Way too lowbrow.”
I mock-glared at him. “Did you not just see me in Cookie Bird’s outfit?”
Lee started tearing up again, suppressing fresh laughter. “Oh my God, that was awesome. You looked so…so?—”
“What?” I cocked a brow, daring him to finish that sentence. Lee just laughed some more. Two women were gawking at him from the other side of the street, and I found that I couldn’t blame them. His laughter was sexy, a deep bass rumble. His face and his body were fit to stop traffic. And his eyes, those eyes—I thought of the sky, ever-changing. Lee’s eyes were like that, sometimes clear, sometimes stormy, and almost too gorgeous to look at straight-on.
He rubbed his stomach, getting himself under control. “I wish I’d taken a picture.”
“You better not have.” I narrowed my eyes. Wouldn’t the tabloids make a meal of that ? “Hey, isn’t that the diner?”
A squat brick building sat just ahead, with the helpful words The Diner stenciled over the windows. Inside, I could make out red pleather booths, a shiny Formica counter with whirly barstools, and a mouthwatering dessert display laid out behind glass. It was every stereotype I’d ever seen on TV and in movies. I couldn’t wait to go in.
“Burgers schmurgers.” Stepping up to the glass door, I glanced back at him. “I’m having the ribs.”