Chapter 13
The Great Dress Debate…
Standing outside Brooke's apartment door, I practiced my casual yet devastatingly charming pose for the third time when voices drifted through the thin walls. One was definitely Brooke, but the other sounded like a caffeinated life coach.
"Brooke," the woman's voice cut through the air, sharp but tinged with affection. "You look hot. If you weren't straight, I'd totally f…"
"Do not finish that sentence."
"It's true."
"I'm not going," Brooke said, and my mind flashed back to the night she was supposed to go to my wrestling match.
"You have to stop this," the woman sighed. "You are self-sabotaging."
"Maybe I am," Brooke said. "Or maybe I'm just terrified."
"Take a chance, babe," she said softly. "You might be surprised."
An ache bloomed in my chest, a desperate need to see Brooke's face, to read the emotions in her eyes. My hand twitched towards the door, every fiber of my being urging me to burst in and sweep her into my arms.
"I have to go," the woman sighed dramatically. "But you should go, have fun, and stop letting Captain Douchebag live rent-free in your head."
Captain Douchebag, I liked this woman already. I raised my hand to knock, ready to make my grand entrance, when the door flew open.
The blonde's eyebrows shot up, her mouth forming a small 'o' as her gaze darted from my face to my chest, then back again. "You must be Matt," she whispered. I nodded.
A slow smile spread across her face like she'd just won the matchmaking lottery.
"Perfect. She's having a fashion crisis in there," she pointed toward what I assumed was Brooke's bedroom.
"Can you give her your honest opinion of the dress she's wearing?
And by honest, I mean tell her she looks amazing, because she does.
She won't believe me because apparently I'm contractually obligated as her best friend to lie about these things. "
My eyebrows did their own little dance of confusion. "I can do that, but should I just storm her bedroom like some kind of romantic home invader?"
"I'll be your wingwoman," she smirked, practically bouncing on her toes. She slammed the door behind me and gestured for me to follow. "Brooke!" she called out in a sing-song voice.
"I thought you were leaving, Davina!" Brooke called back, and I could hear the smile in her voice.
"Are you decent? Because I'm bringing in backup!"
"Define decent!"
"Good enough!" Davina charged through the bedroom door like a woman on a mission. "Matt is here to settle the Great Dress Debate of today!"
I followed her through the doorway and promptly forgot how breathing worked. Brooke's eyes met mine through the full-length mirror, and time did that cheesy slow-motion thing that happens in movies right before someone falls off a cliff or falls in love.
"Davina!" Brooke spun around, eyes wide. "What the hell?"
"You're welcome," Davina said sweetly. "I'm like a fairy godmother, but with better timing."
Brooke rolled her eyes. "More like a meddling…"
"Matchmaker? I prefer romantic strategist."
I had to clear my throat twice because, apparently, seeing Brooke in that yellow dress had short-circuited my vocal cords. "Wow," I managed, which in retrospect wasn't exactly Shakespeare, but it was honest.
The dress hugged her like it had been specifically designed by someone who understood the concept of perfection.
Brooke stood in front of the mirror with her back to me. My breath caught as I took in the sight of her. The yellow fabric hugged her curves perfectly, the hem swaying gently around her knees. Sunlight from the window caught in her hair, showing the lighter highlights. "Brooke, you look amazing."
"I’m going to change into something less attention-grabbing," she said, tugging at the hem.
"Why?"
Brooke's shoulders hunched forward slightly, her arms crossing over her midsection. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her eyes darting around the room, landing anywhere but on me. "I don't think this dress was made for my body type."
"What?" My brows pulled tightly together, and I moved to her before I even realized what I was doing.
"The dress doesn't fit right, and it's probably too much for a backyard BBQ. I look like I'm trying too hard, and…"
I placed my hands on her hips, cutting off her spiral into a fashion-induced panic.
Our eyes locked in the mirror, and Davina's presence faded.
I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear, my breath warm against her skin.
"This dress," I said, letting my hands trace the curve of her waist, "fits you like it was hand-tailored by angels who specialize in making people look absolutely stunning. "
The corners of her mouth twitched upward like they were fighting against her natural instinct to argue. She bit her lower lip, which should probably be illegal because it was ridiculously distracting, and her fingers kept worrying at the hem of her dress like she was trying to negotiate with it.
"Are you sure?"
My jaw clenched as I watched that familiar shadow of doubt cross her features. It was the same look she'd had when she'd told me about her ex, and it made me want to kill him.
Her gaze dropped to the floor. My fingers twitched, wanting to tilt her chin back up to erase the doubt etched across her features. I hated that look of doubt in her eyes. The look that he put there.
Heat crept up the back of my neck, my jaw clenching so tight I could hear my teeth grinding. It enraged me that he made her feel not good enough, because she was. "Wear the dress, Brooke. You look beautiful."
She took a shaky breath, and when her eyes met mine again, they were bright with unshed tears.
"I don't get it." Her voice cracked slightly.
She turned to face me fully, my hands still resting on her hips.
"I don't understand why you're here." She gestured between us like she was trying to solve a complex math problem.
"You could probably date a supermodel or a rocket scientist or a supermodel rocket scientist, but instead you're here.
.. in my bedroom... telling me I'm beautiful.
" The last word came out as a whisper, as if she couldn't quite convince herself to believe it.
"You want to know what I don't get?" I smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I don't get how someone as brilliant and gorgeous as you can look in the mirror and not see what I see.
I don't get how you can't tell that I'm completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly attracted to you.
But since you can't see it, I guess it's my job to remind you every day until you believe it.
Fair warning, though, I can be pretty persistent. "
Her shoulders relaxed, and she swayed slightly toward me like a flower turning toward the sun. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let out this soft sigh that made my chest do that fluttery thing again.
"My ex used to say that dresses like this weren't made for my body type." The words came out like they physically hurt to say.
I couldn't help it. I laughed. Not at her, but at the sheer absurdity of anyone being that wrong about anything.
"Your ex is either legally blind or suffered some kind of traumatic head injury, because this dress looks like it was personally designed for you by someone who really, really knows what they're doing. "
"Why would you be interested in someone as complicated as me?"
I cupped her face in my hands, tilting her chin up until she had no choice but to look at me. "If you could see yourself through my eyes for just five minutes," I brushed my thumb across her cheek, "you'd understand why I'm the luckiest guy in the world just to be standing here with you."
The smile that spread across her face was like watching the sunrise, slow, beautiful, and absolutely worth the wait. "Okay," she said, her voice stronger now. "I guess I'm ready to go make everyone at this BBQ incredibly jealous of your date."
From the doorway, Davina slow-clapped. "And that, kids, is how you do a romantic intervention. My work here is done."
Brooke and I both turned to stare at her, having completely forgotten she was there.
"Oh, don't mind me," Davina grinned, grabbing her purse. "I'm just going to go tell everyone I know that I'm basically a professional matchmaker now."