AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Finally, I cracked open one eye, just a little bit. Just enough to see red reflected back at me.
I opened them all the way and gaped at myself. To my surprise—okay, shock—I actually didn't look awful. The dress accentuated my breasts and hips, and the split in the side was sexy without revealing too much. The colour complimented my hair and complexion.
"When you're done thinking about how it would feel to have Conrad take that off you, come out let me have a look," Grace called out.
"I wasn't—" Okay, now I was. I pictured him pulling down the zip, oh so slowly. Easing the straps off my shoulders. I swallowed hard. Ireallyshouldn't be thinking this way. It was getting me nowhere.
"Sure you weren't," she said slowly. "Oh my—" Her mouth dropped open.
I wanted to shrink back into the change room. "That bad?"
"Girl," she drew out the word. "You look haaawt, with a capital H. O. T." She fanned herself with her hand. "If I was him, I'd be thinking about ways of taking it off you. I mean that in a totally platonic way, of course."
"I figured." I turned around and looked at myself in the mirror again. "With my money from the tutoring, I guess I could afford it." I'd look good for the formal, and he'd get to pass his poetry analysis.
I had no doubt he could, as long as he applied himself to it. I understood poetry and football didn't really have much to do with each other. I mean, unless you talked about rhythm and passion, and knowing when to bend the rules in order toentertain the audience. Mostly though, he probably thought he didn't need to learn poetry if he was going to play football professionally. Even if he wasn't, poetry is far from a life skill. It's an art that makes life better, but it isn't for everyone.
On the other hand, he still had to pass English.
"You should absolutely buy it," Grace said. "I guess I'll keep looking."
"You don't want to try on the orange one?" I teased. "It would probably look good on you."
Grace snorted. "You first. I think I'll stick to a normal colour like blue or green."
"Spoilsport," I joked. "You should definitely look for green. It's totally your colour."
"Like red is yours." Grace closed the change room door after I stepped back inside. "And I don't just mean your face."
"I know you can't see right now," I said, "but I'm giving you a dirty look. And flipping you off."
"Dirty like your thoughts about Conrad?" she teased.
I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times, but couldn't think of a way to reply to that. She was right, my thoughts about him were, well, not dirty, but certainly sexy.
It didn't matter though. He knew I existed, but that didn't change anything. He was out of my league. We had nothing substantial in common. He would go off and play football, and I'd go off to university soon. This time next year, we will have forgotten each other's names.
Still, he lingered in my mind as I slipped off the dress and put it back on the hanger. I looked at my reflection with just my panties on. He was right when he said I didn't shame anyone for their appearance. Maybe I should extend that courtesy to myself.
I quickly pulled my clothes back on and stepped out of the change room. For the first time since I started high school, I was actually looking forward to the graduation formal.
Chapter Six
CONRAD
I leaned against the back of the couch and crossed my arms. I half closed my eyes and listened to Bec read. Not just the words, but the sound of her voice as well. She had the kind of voice I could listen to all day, and a way of bringing poetry to life. It made my dick hard. Okay, I was eighteen, everything made my dick hard, but her in particular.
I wanted to pin her to the couch, peel down the front of her t-shirt and taste her nipples. Instead, I played it cool. I listened for the meaning of the poem and tried not to let her husky voice lull me.
There was something about her today. She seemed more confident than she had during our first tutoring sessions. Maybe she was more comfortable with me.
That was fair enough, I'm a pretty chill dude.
She shifted position so her thigh rested on the couch, and her opposite leg dangled. Her jeans hugged her figure in a way that made me stare. I wanted to undo the fly and stick my fingers inside—
"Conrad? Are you listening?" she asked.
"Hmmm?" I blinked and shook my head. "Yeah, I'm listening. The horse is an analogy for sex." I knew that wouldmake her blush, and it did. "When you think about it, most poetry is an analogy for sex."
