It was a little snug, but not uncomfortably so. It took a few good yanks to get it up. In all honesty, I probably should have given up somewhere around my hips.
Reagan Wright was no quitter, though.
Unless it was the gym. Which, according to this dress, I shouldn’t have given up.
How ironic.
With a grunt, I pulled the straps up over my shoulders. It didn’t look too bad, actually, especially not after a tug on the zipper. Sure, I wouldn’t be able to eat or sit down or breathe all night if I wore it, but…
But nothing.
It had to come off.
I couldn’t go to dinner and not eat just because my dress was too tight. I wasn’t living in the nineteenth century, after all.
I reached around to undo the zipper, but it only went a third of the way down. I tugged and yanked and pulled, but it was no good.
The bitch was stuck.
Great.
Just great.
There was no way in hell that I was going to be able to get this thing over my ass without the extra room the zipper provided. This dress was like Spanx, but ten times worse.
I breathed in as much as I could, but it was no good. The thing wouldn’t budge, even when I pulled so hard the metal pressed into my fingertips and pretty much branded me for life.
Why the hell had I put this on?
Stupid fire. Stupid brain. Stupid date.
Mercury had to be in retrograde. That was the only explanation for all these stupid decisions.
A knock rattled my bedroom door. “Reagan? It’s me.”
“Ava! Thank God! Get in here!”
She shoved the door open before freezing. “What the—”
“I’m stuck.” My voice was little more than a squeak. “Help.”
She brought her hand to her mouth before coming into the room and dumping an entire armful of dresses onto my bed. “Here. Where’s the zipper?”
“On a train to hell!” I moved my arm so that she could access it. “It won’t move.”
“I’ll try.” She crouched down and wiggled it about. “How are you breathing in this dress?”
“I’m not.”
“Why did you put it on?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“Not arguing there,” she muttered, wedging the zip up a little. “I think it’s getting caught in the fabric. I need to get my hand in there to make sure it doesn’t catch.”
“Your hand? What do you think my armpit is? A petting zoo?”
“Do you want me to get you out of this dress or what?”
“Fine. Put your hand in there and finger my ribcage.”
Ava rolled her eyes as she wiggled her fingers under the fabric of the dress.
Was this how turkeys felt on Thanksgiving? It wasn’t pleasant. It did actually feel like I was being stuffed, except nobody was going to cook me to put me out of my misery when it was all said and done.
“Got it!” Ava pulled the zip down with a triumphant whoosh and stepped back. “Burn that dress.”
“My dresses burning is why I’m in this situation!” I yanked the sleeves down and freed my arms from the fabric prison before I rolled it up and tugged it as hard as I could down my body until it fell to the floor. I stepped out and kicked it toward the wall.
“Yes, well, you’re welcome for saving you.” She pulled her black hair up into a messy twist. The hairband snapped against her hand as she finished up and moved for the clothes. “Right. We have forty-five minutes and you look like you just went five rounds with a heavyweight boxer.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a compliment.”
“I know, but it’s sarcasm or I hit you.”
“Mm.” She eyed me. “Let’s get to work.”
CHAPTER TWELVE – NOAH
Lady And The Firefighter
I put my truck into park and breathed out a huge sigh. I was running late thanks to some paperwork I had to do before I left work, and I’d barely had time to run home, change, and get back here as close to seven as I possibly could, and that didn’t even include sorting Poosh out.
It was why my hair was still wet.
I turned and looked at the house. I knew I had to be a gentleman and go to the front door to collect Reagan, but I wasn’t sure I could cope with another interrogation from her great aunt.
Or her mom, for that matter.
Still… I had to.
I got out of the truck and did my best to avoid the nerves that were bubbling up inside me. I’d been on a few dates since I’d moved here, but none of them had been with someone I actually fucking liked. I hadn’t gotten to know any of them well enough to say that I actually liked them and maybe had feelings for them.
Not like I had with Reagan.
I was all too aware of the voice in the back of my mind. It kept reminding me of how I felt about her—of how much I’d smiled since I’d accidentally texted her.