Page 37 of Protected from Reprisal
She leans in and presses her lips lightly to mine. “I think that’s anexcellentidea.”
CHAPTER 7
YARA
Why isit so much harder to pick out clothes when a man’s involved?
On a normal day, my outfit is little more than a fleeting thought. For work, it’s a pair of dress pants and a neutral-colored shirt or sweater, depending on the weather. And when I’m home, it’s whatever’s clean and comfortable.
But tonight? When Ace is due to arrive in only a few hours? That makes the whole getting-dressed process more complicated. Which is why I’ve been standing in my closet for the last ten minutes, debating.
Do I wear my normal Friday night attire of sweats and a T-shirt? We’re just going to be having delivery and watching a movie, after all, so logic tells me it would be silly to dress for more.
But Ace is driving three hours to get here, after a long week of work, no less. Don’t I want to look like I at least made some sort of effort for him? Not like his visit is just an afterthought, rather than something I’ve been looking forward to for days?
Turning away from the stacks of sweatpants and T-shirts, I survey the opposite side of the closet, where my jeans and more form-fitting tops hang. The new jeans and clingy sweater I bought after work the other day stare at me, silently asking,Why bother buying new clothes if you have no intention of wearing them?
It’s a good question. A great one, really. WhydidI spend two agonizing hours at the mall after work to pick out this outfit if I’m going to just leave it sitting in my closet, unworn?
Why did I specifically pick out a green sweater that matches the color of my eyes, spurred on by a comment Ace made last weekend? It was right after our third kiss—which was even better than the first, for the record—and he looked at me and said, “I’m not sure if I’ve ever said this. But your eyes are the prettiest color I’ve ever seen.”
And why did I try on fifteen different pairs of jeans in an attempt to find the pair that makes my butt look the best if I’m just going to wear baggy sweats instead?
So, really, it would be foolish not to wear the new outfit. Not just foolish, but a waste of money. I’m not hurting for it, not with my pay from DynaTech and my savings from years of hazard pay in the Army. But my dad always taught me to be frugal with money.
“Just because we’re comfortable now,”he told me,“doesn’t mean circumstances won’t change. It’s okay to treat yourself sometimes. Or spend money on things that have a high return on investment, like sending you to the best college. But spending frivolously just because you can? It’s risky, Yara. I’ve seen people end up struggling because they didn’t put money away for a rainy day.”
I took his words to heart, because, even as a teenager, I thought my dad was one of the smartest people I knew. Not that I never splurge on things—the designer jeans I’m looking atthat cost five times the amount I’d usually spend are a glaring example of that. But the idea of me spending a shocking amount of money on a pair of jeans to wear specifically for a man I’m not even technically dating…
That’s what makes this whole picking out an outfit thing even more challenging. Ace and I are in this weird sort of in-between stage of our relationship. We’ve kissed—ten times at last count—which definitely moves us out of the strictly friends zone. But I wouldn’t say our agreement tosee where things goconstitutes dating, either.
So that brings me back to the closet conundrum.
On the right side of my walk-in closet are the new sweater and jeans, more fitting for a date than just hanging out with a friend. And on the left, my comfy sweats and worn T-shirts beckon, perfect for a lazy evening at home.
You were wearing comfy clothes last Friday,my inner voice of logic reminds me.And Ace didn’t seem to mind then.
True,I agree. So I grab one of my nicer pairs of sweats—or at least, they don’t have stains or holes in them—and one of my old Berkeley T-shirts. As I lay them out on the bed, I run through everything I still need to do before Ace arrives. Shower, of course. Change. Tidy up the kitchen and put out fresh towels and sheets. Oh, and try not to stress myself out over something as simple as clothes.
While I’m still staring at the sweatpants and T-shirt, my phone buzzes from my dresser with an incoming text. It’s the ringtone I recently assigned to Ace, which makes my heart leap with anticipation. Flinging my pants at the hamper, I rush across the bedroom to snatch up the phone.
In the moment before I read his message, insecurity surges.What if he’s texting to cancel?it asks. Maybe the week apart made him realize he’s not interested in this long-distancesee where things gothing. Maybe he’d rather stick with going outin Portland and hooking up with uncomplicated and available women, as I’m sure he does, because crap, he’s a man and just because he’s not ready for a relationship doesn’t mean he lives a life of celibacy.
“Argh,” I mutter as I tap on the screen to read his message. “When did I turn into such an insecure mess?”
But I know the answer, don’t I?
Three years ago, to start. And it’s only gotten worse since Tacoma.
But before I can get too down on myself, Ace’s message lifts my spirits again.
Hey, just finishing up with some Blade and Arrow stuff. Going to take a quick shower before getting on the road. So I should be there around eight. Do you want me to pick up food on the way or wait until I get there to order?
A second later, another message appears.
Really looking forward to seeing you. Feels like it’s been longer than a week.
Awww.
