Accidentally In Love (Peter Hale Fanfiction) ON HOLD

Chapter Nine: All of Me

                     The day of my date with Peter Hale had finally arrived, and I wasn’t even thinking about it. I’d been up all night, researching the victims and trying to find some sort of connection between them, some sort of pattern, besides the Hale fire. Unfortunately, by the time the sun began to peer out from behind the dark skyline, I had nothing. No reason to believe Scott and Stiles weren’t right, except for one thing: Laura Hale. She was the only piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit, and I was determined to use her to prove to them that it wasn’t one of the Hales who was murdering people. Unfortunately, even after spending my entire shift thinking over the issue, I still couldn’t come up with any explanation by the time I left work. Frustrated and annoyed at Scott and Stiles, I set out for the tiny mall that was only a short drive downtown to pick out something for my date with Peter. I need to look hot, I told myself as I strolled through the double doors and past a Sears.

              Deciding to put the Hale fire drama out of my head for the night, I refocused my energy and resources on piecing together the perfect outfit. It’s at his place, so something casual. But it’s dinner. And it’s Peter. So I have to look smashing. Mouth-watering. I have to make him want to do more than just makeout with me in a grocery store aisle. He has to take me seriously; Peter is older, after all. So I passed by Forever 21 in favor of going into Charlotte Russe, which was inexpensive but still stylish and mature.

                   Or so I thought. After twenty minutes of sorting through racks upon racks of pleated skirts and sheer blouses, I’d found absolutely nothing. How bout we start with the basics: underwear, I mused to myself, marching out of Charlotte Russe and ducking into the Victoria’s Secret on the second floor. Just in case things with Peter went farther than intended, I needed hotter underwear than the ones I owned. I don’t think cotton boyshorts from Target are gonna cut it. The amount of lingerie and sexual implications in the store nearly overwhelmed me; I had to duck my head, blushing furiously, as I sped past the lacy thong section, and instead headed over to the push-up bras.

“May I help you with something?” The sales lady chirped in my face, gesturing to the rows of bras that she was guarding like the fire-breathing dragon in Shrek. I shook my head no, sliding past her with some difficulty and choosing the first bra I saw at random. World’s Sexiest Push-Up Bra. Well, that seems good. It was hot pink with silver spider-web designing all across the front, fastened with a little silver bow connecting the two cups. As I read the label that “promised to add two cup sizes to any boobs,” I decided to get it. The idea of Peter taking off my shirt and seeing me in that bra...Yes. It’s a definite purchase. After swiftly finding pink lace panties to match, I bought the set and sighed as I reviewed the receipt. That was about three quarters of the amount of money I had left. Dammit. Looks like I will be shopping at Forever 21 after all. 

                   That evening, it was T-minus one hour until I was going over to Peter’s, and I could not be more nervous. I had my lace panties and bra on, but that was about it. I’d struck out at Forever 21, and, deciding to save the last forty bucks that I had, I’d come home and proceeded to dig through my entire closet and all of the remaining unopened boxes in my room. Why don’t I own anything cute? I wondered hopelessly, trying on a white peplum blouse and pairing it with skinny dark wash jeans. The jeans looked great; the top, not so much. I switched my outfit again, this time throwing on a sleek black sleeveless jumper. It was satin and sophisticated and made my ass look huge. Bingo. Hopping around in time to the music playing, which was “Turn Down For What” by Lil Jon, I danced into the bathroom to apply my makeup and fix my hair. I twisted a small section of my brown waves back into a braid, leaving the rest loose and shiny. Slipping on black wedges and grabbing a small black crossbody bag, I finally left at eight fifteen, praying Peter wasn’t a punctual kind of guy.