“Wear the outfit, it makes you look like a goddess,” she says with a smirk, and leaves.
“You don’t tell me what to wear!” I shout after her.
“See you on Friday,” she says knowingly without looking back.
It enrages me.
Why is it always her walking out? Leaving me with all sorts of emotions and thoughts to deal with?
Friday comes,and I stand in front of my wardrobe. I will most certainly not wear the outfit she told me to wear, but I also don’t know what to wear instead.
What do they even mean by casual chic? It’s either casual or chic. The blouse is chic. Maybe business. Not casual.
“Urgh,” I say, because I hate socializing.
I glance at my watch. It’s already too late. And I can’t be too late. I eye the blouse.
“Why do I have to win this?” I ask myself out loud.”She told you you looked good in it. So why not wear it?”
“Because I will not have another person tell me what to do,” I answer my own question. And with that, I choose a buttoned midi dress and pair it with boots. I love the dress very much because it is a shirt-and-dress-in-one that enhances my curves beautifully while hiding the parts I am most insecure about.
I take a coat, a mini bag, pack the essentials, grab the gift bag with the brownies, and then rush out to the subway.
It is exactly one minute to seven when I arrive at the door without a bell. I look up at the camera, and the door opens.
I ride the elevator upstairs.
The door to the studio is open.
Do I walk in?
Wait here?
Urgh, this is all so awkward. I shouldn’t be here.
At that moment, Amelie appears at the door, barefoot, wearing a very short, tight silver dress that is both impressive and simple.
No shoes.
“Hi,” she says, smiling widely.
“Hi,” I say, and allow a smirk to appear on my face. She is excited I am here.
There is an awkward moment where we just stand in front of each other.
“Can I touch you?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “And, you do not have to ask every time. I love that you do it?—“
Her shoulders twitch in the tiniest possible movement, and if I am not entirely wrong, she straightened slightly the moment I used the word love.
And then she grasps my face with both hands and kisses me. A kiss, causing me to relax in her touch. All the nervousness falls from me.
Her body is so close. So close, my useless hands touch her chest. She smiles against my lips, trails with her lips to my ear, and says, “I’m glad you didn’t listen to me with the outfit choice,” and lets go of me.
Wait, what?
“Why would you be glad I didn’t listen to what you told me to do?” I ask her.