She meets my gaze, holding it for a long beat that makes my pulse spike again before she whispers, “No, I wouldn’t.”
“I’ll text you the location and meet you at eight,” I say in a soft voice. “Wear something black and slinky.”
She frowns. “The mushroom restaurant is fancy?”
“Not in the least. It’s Brooklyn casual. I just enjoy you in clothing that’s black . . . and slinky.”
Her lips curve into a sneaky grin. “In that case, why don’t you wear those jeans that make your butt look good?”
On that note, she spins around, heads up her steps, and goes into her building.
And I do something I rarely do.
I start thinking about what I’m going to wear the next day.
7
Ruby
This is probably a mission for Gigi.
I stand in front of my closet the next day, swiping through the options, yanking T-shirt after T-shirt from their hangers and then sticking my tongue out at my clothes.
It’s not like I’m going to find a lot of black and slinky in here.
Hell, my wardrobe lately consists of—let’s see—yoga pants, yoga pants, yoga pants, and the occasional pair of jogging shorts.
Still, I try one more time, just in case I missed some sexy number that would be perfect for . . . mushroom tasting.
What the hell does one even wear to go mushroom tasting at Forage and Fox?
Also, who names a café Forage and Fox? What’s appetizing about digging through the dirt or . . . foxes?
Doesn’t matter.
Clothes matter.
Greatly.
After the triumph in the store yesterday, I’m inclined to bring a level of slink guaranteed to make him drool. Yes, we’re just friends, but there aren’t any rules against friends making friends salivate.
Especially when Jesse flat-out asked for it.
But I won’t find anything drool-worthy here.
I grab my cell phone from the coffee table in my tiny studio, spotting a text from my mom that I’ll check in a few. First, I fire off a quick message to my cousin.
* * *
Ruby: Fashion emergency.
* * *
I add a firetruck for effect.
Her reply is instantaneous, but I’m not surprised. I’ve used her two favorite words.
* * *