After going weeks without creating anything worth wearing, it was a relief to slip this outfit on and know with full confidence that it’s something I can be proud of.
“I’m not changing, and there’s no reason for me to in the first place. Don’t be an asshole,” I snap.
“Brielle—”
I cut him off before he can say anything else that’s going to piss me off. “Unless you want me to smack you, drop it. You’re not Dad, and I’m not going to have you judge me for what I choose to wear. It’s not like I’m planning on walking around in my fucking underwear. Don’t be a dickbag.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you. I didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh,” he replies, slightly less tense.
“I appreciate that, but I can take care of myself.”
His nod is rigid, and I swear I can see the vein in his throat throbbing. “I’m going to guess you made that outfit yourself?”
“What gave it away?” I scoff.
He waits for me to do up my seat belt before reversing and pulling away from the curb. “You’re always more passionate when it comes to the clothes you design. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I didn’t mean to attack you like that, either.”
“Eh, I deserved it. Old habits, I guess.”
“You make it sound like you’ve been beating up guys for me all my life. It was literally one time years ago.”
“I should have done it a thousand other times,” he grunts.
“I’ll have you know that I go out often wearing worse than this and have made it out just fine.”
His head whips in my direction for a long, silent moment before he focuses on the road again. “That does not help.”
“Oops.”
“Christ, Elle.”
“Don’t act like that surprises you. I’ve been designing clothes like this for damn near my entire life. You should be used to it by now.”
“Let’s just change the subject.”
“To what?”
“Why do I have to choose something?”
“You’re the one who brought it up!”
With a sigh, he taps on the centre screen a few times and changes the playlist to something that doesn’t make me want to plug my ears. “Fine. Are you excited for the concert?”
“Because of the music, or the fact we get to watch it from a private suite?”
“Both.”
“Then, yes. I wish it was someone else performing, but I’m still grateful that you invited me.”
“You’re too picky when it comes to music.”
“Am I picky, or do I just have impeccable taste?” I tease, grinning at him.
He arches a brow at me. “Definitely picky. Everyone loves Noah Hutton.”
“Mmm, hard disagree.”
