Chapter 89 (2/2)

“Be quiet.”

I hear him chuckle, and I want to open the door just to see his smile, but I decide against it. I put the white strapless dress on first and struggle to zip it up the back: tight. Too tight and short, way too short. Finally I get the thin fabric to zip, and I tug at the bottom of the dress before opening the door to the dressing room.

“Hardin?” I almost whisper.

“Holy shit.” He practically gasps when he turns the corner and takes in the sight of me in the barely-there dress.

“It’s short.” I flush.

“Yeah, you aren’t getting that,” he says as his eyes move up and down my body.

“If I want to, I will,” I say, reminding him that he will not tell me what to wear.

He glares at me for a moment before speaking. “I know . . . I just meant you shouldn’t. It’s too revealing for your taste.”

“That’s what I thought.” I hum and look in the full-length mirror once more.

Hardin smirks, and I see him check out my bottom. “It is incredibly sexy, though.”

“Next,” I say and walk back into the dressing room.

The gold dress feels silky against my skin despite the entire dress being covered in tiny gold disks. It falls to the middle of my thighs, and the sleeves are quarter length. This is much more me, only a touch riskier than usual. The sleeves give the illusion of the dress being more conservative, but the way the material clings to my body and the short length say otherwise.

“Tess,” Hardin whines impatiently from directly outside. I open the door, and his reaction makes my heart flutter.

“Christ.” He swallows.

“You like it?” I chew my bottom lip. I feel pretty confident in the dress, especially after Hardin’s cheeks turn pink and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Very much.”

This is such a normal couple thing to be doing, trying on clothes for him at Macy’s, it feels strange yet very comforting. I was terrified a few days ago when he found out about my dinner with Trevor in Seattle.

“I’m going to get this one, then,” I say.

After finding a pair of thick and rather intimidating black pumps, we head to check-out. Hardin pesters me to let him pay, but I refuse, this time winning the battle.

“You’re right, you really should be buying me something . . . you know, to make up for the lack of Christmas gifts I received,” he teases as we exit the mall.