The Rules of Dating My Best Friend's Sister(41)

“I’ll have to go to Mars,” I called after him as he headed down the hall. “Because you’re the pickiest motherfucker on the face of the Earth.”

Feeling restless after he left, I took a shower before going to bed. But I was still wide awake as I sat up against my headboard.

Then Lala sent me a text.

A flash of panic hit as I worried she’d heard our conversation through the wall. But her text was about something else.

Lala: Why do you keep a photo of me, you, and Ryan in your wallet?

Oh. When she’d admitted to going through my wallet, I’d been more concerned with the condoms in there and hadn’t even thought about that photo. I could’ve told her the truth—that I loved her smile in that photo and it made me happy to have two of my favorite people in the same shot. But then I reminded myself of my vow to Owen—that I’d do everything I could not to encourage anything between us while she was engaged. I needed to keep myself in check.

So, I lied.

Holden: I just like the way I look in it, I guess.

The dots moved around as she typed.

Lala: Conceited, aren’t we?

Holden: Yup. Sorry. I am who I am. ;-)

After a minute, another text came through.

Lala: Sorry if I made things weird tonight.

Holden: You’ve always been weird. It’s one of the things I love about you.

“Love” about you? Really, Holden?

Lala: Speaking of weird… Owen was acting weird tonight.

Great. I was hoping she hadn’t picked up on his policing me.

Holden: He’s just trying to make sure I don’t get you into trouble.

Lala: You’ve been a Boy Scout, Holden. I’m the problem.

It sucked that she blamed herself when I’d been flirting with her and egging her on this whole time. It’d been a two-way street—with me directing traffic.

Holden: Don’t beat yourself up for having a little fun in a new city. You’re only young once. And as much as you think you’ve been “bad,” you really haven’t.

I couldn’t help adding one more thing.

Holden: Believe me, if we ever truly crossed the line, you’d know it.





CHAPTER 11


Lala



“Mom! Oh my gosh. What are you doing here?”

My mother was the last person I’d expected to find on the other side of my door bright and early on a Saturday morning. Sadly, I felt a twinge of disappointment since I’d thought it might be Holden.

Mom held her arms up. “Surprise! I came to take you shopping.”

“Shopping?” My forehead wrinkled. “For what?”

She stepped forward and hugged me. “For wedding dresses!”

Oh.

Ugh. Wedding dresses.

That wasn’t exactly what I felt like doing, but I didn’t want to make my mom feel bad. Plus, I should’ve been ecstatic to go dress shopping. “Wow. Okay. How…awesome.” I waved her inside. “Come in, come in.”

My mother clapped her hands. “I got you an appointment at Kleinman’s for twelve o’clock today.”

“Really?” I blinked a few times. When I’d first gotten engaged, I’d found a few wedding dresses I liked in bridal magazines, and they all seemed to come from Kleinman’s in Manhattan. I’d tried to make an appointment, but they were booked solid three months out. “Did you make it a long time ago?”

Mom shook her head. “I signed up to be notified of any last-minute cancelations. Last night I got a text that an appointment had become available today, so here I am.”

My mom was the best mother in the world, and I was happy to see her, even if the thought of dress shopping made me a bit queasy right now. I’d probably get over it once I started to try things on. “I can’t believe you’re here.” I smiled. “Thank you so much, Mom.”

Two hours later, I was standing on a round modeling pedestal wearing the Vera Wang tulle-bottom dress I’d loved in a magazine. My mother’s eyes welled up.

“Oh my God, Laney. You look like a princess.”

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The dress was gorgeous, and it fit me like a glove. Yet something about it didn’t feel right.

“It’s really beautiful, but I’m not sure it’s the one, Mom.”

“Really?” She forced a smile. “Well, you need the one when you marry the one, so we’ll just have to keep looking.”

I tried on a dozen more dresses after that, with each successive one becoming harder and harder to look at in the mirror. It was causing me so much stress that the rash I often got when I was anxious broke out.

My mother noticed. “Oh honey, your neck is all red.”

I covered the skin with my hand. “I think the fabric on that last dress may have irritated it a little. It’s fine.”

But by the time we left the store, the rash covered my chest, neck, and the upper part of my back. We’d told the saleswoman I was going to think over a few dresses I really liked and would be in touch soon. Then Mom and I went to lunch at a little café down the block. We both ordered chicken Caesar salads and a glass of white wine.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” My mom tilted her head. She was so good at reading me. “You seem a little preoccupied today. Sad even.”