“Jesus,” she huffs out. “What kind of voodoo did your parents do while you two were in the womb for you to both be so attractive?”
“I’m going to put a shirt on.” Ryan’s quick strides take him to his room.
“Are you okay?” I turn back to my friend.
“No,” she honestly admits. “I’m not okay, and I don’t know that I will be for a while. I’m sorry to come here like this, but I had no idea where else to go.”
“Stop apologizing. You’re my friend. Of course, you should be here.”
“I need a single girls’ night out. I need vodka and dancing. You and I, tonight.” She sits up straighter with excitement, even though her pretty face is stained with old makeup. “Single girls’ night in Chicago.”
“Well.” I slowly nod my head. “You see. About that. The thing is...”
Indy’s brows are pinched in confusion, waiting for me to get to the point.
“The thing is, I can’t exactly have a single girls’ night because I’m not single.”
“Excuse me, what?”
“I’m not single,” I repeat a little slower this time.
“Yeah, babe. I heard you, but I need an explanation.”
“I have a boyfriend,” I say with caution, speaking to the girl who just lost hers after six years.
“If he’s not a giant hockey defenseman who drools over you every single flight, I don’t want to hear about it.”
A knowing smile slides across my lips. “He’s a giant hockey defenseman who drools over me every flight.”
“Shut up!” Indy lights up, looking like a completely different woman than the one who walked in here. “You and Zanders are together? Officially?”
“Yeah.” I release a content and happy sigh. “That arrogant ass is my boyfriend.”
“Oh my God! Yes! I love this! I love this for you. I love this for him. Shit, I love this for me! I don’t know who I’m more jealous of. This is amazing, Stevie.”
I try to hold back my smile, especially with Indy’s current relationship situation, but I can’t.
“Are you happy?” she softly asks.
“So happy,” I admit. “But that feels like a shitty thing to say right now.”
“Stop.” Indy brushes me away. “Just because my relationship went up in flames last night doesn’t mean we shouldn’t celebrate yours. Okay, no girls’ night out. Girls’ night in. Movies and ice cream and whatever else girlfriends do on a Saturday night.”
“Ryan will be home. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” She pops her shoulder. “What girls’ night is complete without a little eye candy?”
“Gross.”
34
ZANDERS
“Really, Vee? This is where you decide to take me?”
“Yeah. What did you expect? For me to charter a private jet, fly you to New York, and take you to Saks?”
I jolt back. “Jesus, woman. Talk about a wet dream.”
Stevie playfully rolls her eyes, pulling my hand to follow her in. “Come on, fancy pants. You said I could pick anywhere to take you shopping as long as you get to do the same.”
I stop in my tracks, right outside the thrift store, eyeing the building. “But here? Sweetheart, we can upgrade a bit, don’t you think? I’d even go to Target over this.”
Her brows furrow in disgust. “Don’t talk about Target that way, like it’d be a chore to go. You should be thanking Target for just existing.”
Rosie sits perfectly at my side, both of us equally as hesitant to step through the doors.
“Please, Zee.” Stevie’s blue-green eyes are wide and pleading. “This is where I want to shop.”
Let’s be honest, I’d go fucking dumpster diving for this girl, but giving her shit is one of my favorite pastimes.
“Rosie, please tell Stevie that she’s going to owe me a very long, very naked shower after this.”
Stevie rolls her eyes once again. “Rosie, please tell your dad that he sounds like a pretentious a-hole right now.”
“Vee...” I narrow my eyes. “Rosie can’t speak.”
Her eyes close in frustration. “You’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”
Chuckling lightly, I bend down, pressing my lips to her scowling ones.
Thankfully, this side of town is relatively quiet, and the people here could give two shits about who I am. Maybe they don’t even know. I’m not sure. But the idea of that, of going through life without the attention, sounds nice. Especially now that I’m dating someone who I would like to spend every waking moment with, including mundane trips to the grocery store, weekends at the dog park, or simply stopping for gas without worry that there might be too many eyes watching.
One day, though. I’m holding out hope.
As soon as Stevie opens the door, my eyes burn from the quick adjustment of the dreary Chicago winter outside to the brightly colored walls inside.
“I stumbled across this place a couple of months ago, and I love it.”
Following Stevie inside, a pungent unidentified scent attacks my nostrils. “What the hell is that smell?”
Stevie stands straighter, inhaling a deep breath through her nose, a giant smile resting on her lips. “That is the smell of thrifting.”
“Interesting.” I follow her down the aisle of completely uncoordinated options, keeping my arms in tight, being sure not to touch anything.
Every wall is a different shade of orange and yellow, but you almost can’t see them due to the mass of clothing stuffed on racks, overtaking the shop.
I watch as my girl excitedly sifts through the racks with detail, no article of clothing left untouched. Don’t get me wrong, I have zero plans of shopping here, but watching her be this happy and excited does something to me.
I’m a fan of all sides of her, but “passionate Stevie” has to be my favorite. That side of her always comes out at the dog shelter, and it’s here again today.
She pulls a pair of jeans off the hook that seem to be about two sizes too big, which is exactly how she likes them. Holding them up, she examines them for a moment before turning to Rosie and showing her. Rosie cocks her head as if she has any idea of what’s going on before Stevie decides against them and puts them back on the rack to resume her search.
“Why do you like thrifting so much?” I ask from behind her.
“I like it for a lot of reasons.” She shuffles through the rack. “It’s fun to try new styles without breaking the bank. It keeps money out of fast fashion, and sometimes you find cool, unique pieces you’d never be able to find somewhere else.” She picks up a sweatshirt that looks decades old, worn in all the right places. The logo on the front of an old high school is barely legible from being so distressed.
She hooks it on her arm to keep as she continues her search. “But mostly, I think it’s cool to give a piece of clothing a second life. You have no idea where some of this has been. Maybe someone wore this dress the night they had their first kiss.” She pulls a floral dress off the rack. “Or maybe”—she excitedly grabs a collared shirt—“maybe someone was wearing this when they got their dream job. All of this”—she sweeps her hand, motioning across the racks—“has a story, and maybe it’ll be what I’m wearing when something important happens in my life too.”