Every Girl Does It(13)

“Is something wrong?” He asks politely.

“Nope. You’re good,” I reply still maintaining my no eye contact rule. “You can put your shirt back on now. Give me a moment to take the rest of the measurements and you can go.”

He puts his shirt back on and I allow myself to let go of the breath I had, apparently, been holding. It’s not that I’m attracted to him. I mean, he’s good looking, but he still broken my heart, and something about him just seemed off. All girls want the guy who dumped them to come crawling back, and I’m not saying I wouldn’t welcome it. But I’m still recovering from the shock of it all. Wait, this means he and Preston work together. Odd.

The knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I know who it is on the other side. "Hang on a sec, that's my last model, I think." I indicate a chair for Bobby and stride slowly to open my door.

“Hey, little miss note writer, miss me?” Preston grins and brushes past me without an invitation. Well, this should be fun and totally not tense at all, nope. He doesn’t notice Bobby sitting there. In Preston’s defense, Bobby was strangely quiet.

“Are you going to back out of the trip, panda bear?” He’s trying to break me. I can feel it, and I won’t go down without a fight.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I fully intend to go on the trip without you. My cat’s going instead.” I put my nose in the air and cross my arms.

“Oh, wow. If that doesn’t scream desperate spinster, I don’t know what does.” His face is so smug I want to throw Mrs. Butterworth at him, claws first. I tried to tell her in my mind to attack him, but instead she walks right up to him and purrs! How dare she! Shouldn’t she be able to sense my anger? Plus, this is her territory, and he’s a mean man.

He picks her up and strokes her face, not at all thrown off by the odd way she looks. “How many cats do you have, Amanda?”

I roll my eyes and walk back to where Bobby is silently gaping. His face is twisted with some sort of hostility, and I can’t tell if it’s directed at me or at Preston.

“We’re almost done here,” I call back to Preston, but he doesn’t seem the least bit fazed. He just shrugs and continues petting Mrs. Butterworth. He either doesn’t notice Bobby glaring at him, or he doesn’t care. In Preston’s defense, it wouldn’t be a fair fight anyway. He could destroy Bobby. He would be declared the winner based on his height alone..

My list had missed that part, Bobby is vertically challenged, and I know I have no room to talk. In reality, he made me feel better about my lack of height. I accepted myself, because he accepted himself and he isn’t that short. If I were to guess, I’d say he’s around five-nine. But in comparison to Preston’s six foot four inch stature, Bobby looks like a child.

Bobby shakes his head, obviously annoyed at the interruption and lets me finish. He takes off without saying thank you and slammed the door behind him.

“Geez, you’re welcome,” I mumble under my breath.

“Don’t worry about Bobby. He’s always like that,” Preston says as he began taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?” I shriek in annoyance, not able to take my eyes off his chest.

“Um, don’t you have to fit us for the muscle T-shirts?” His face is mildly amused. I, however, am not. He totally throws me off with his confidence.

“Yes, you're right. Sorry I—“ Instead of finishing my sentence, I shake my head and begin measuring. It;s different having to see him this close up. His abs are real and he doesn’t need the spray tan to make them look better or more defined. They’re perfect. Upon closer inspection, I can see they too deserve their own fan page on Facebook. I want to touch them, to make sure I’m not seeing things.

It isn’t until I hear Preston clear his throat that I realize I’ve been holding the measuring tape across his abs without measuring. But I’m staring open mouthed at his six pack as if I expect it to speak to me. He chuckles to himself, and I let the measuring tape snap his bare skin, and then apologize when he yelps. He deserves much worse.

“Okay,” I say coldly. “You can put your shirt back on now. We’re almost done.” I try not to watch him put the shirt back on but fail. If your last boyfriend had been Derek, and you had no one but a cat to keep you company, you’d be staring as well. Especially, if the man in your house looks like he’s shooting a commercial for—Well, it wouldn’t matter because, as I look at him now, I realize I’m so buying.

I shake my head as I watch the shirt pull down over his tight chest and try to think about Grandma Ned, but it doesn’t work. Summoning my self-control, I think about Grandma Ned and how she got so mad that one time she caught me watching TV during Christmas break. Yes, that was a bad time. I believe her choice word was “heathen”. If Grandma Ned were here, she’d call me much worse.

“Are you done yet?” I plead, voice cracking.

“I’m not the one doing the measuring, seamstress lady.”

Oh, he did not just call me that. I feign a smile through clenched teeth, while I secretly hope the gym isn’t crowded so I can go running later this afternoon. If I don’t, I’ll spontaneously combust with all this tension.

Preston waits for me to finish with the last measurements. I escort him to the door in hopes he’ll leave quickly, before I either kill him or steal his virtue. Just as he crosses over the door frame, he turns to face me and says, “I think you’re afraid to go on a trip with me. You like me, admit it.”