finding permanence

32: Max

Sam has the most perfect body I've ever laid my eyes on. She's soft and curvy and looks good in anything that she wears. A garbage bag would look like a runway dress on this girl.

I wish she could see herself through my eyes. She'd never be self-conscious again.

Without warning, she shimmies out of the dress, letting the material pool at her feet.

When I don't look away and we make eye contact, she shakes her head with a small smile of her face.

I lean back in the chair, cross my arms across my chest and watch her hang up the dress before grabbing the other.

She stands on her tippy toes to reach the hook with the hanger. Her calves flex and I want to run my hands all over her legs.

I'm so transfixed that I barely recognize the dress slipping up the length of her body.

"Tie me up?" I'm snapped back to reality by her voice.

I slowly stand from the chair, not taking my eyes off her for a second. With shaky hands, I reach for the ribbon to secure the dress, letting my fingers linger on her bare skin.

Most of her back is exposed in this dress, so I lace the tie right on her lower back.

The sides perfectly form to keep everything together and it fits her like a glove.

I settle my hands on her hips and look at us through the mirror. She is adjusting the top and tilts her head to the side, admiring how it looks.

My eyes drop to her side profile, very tempted to start kissing the neck she's just exposed.

I brush her hair off one of her shoulders, craning my head down and whispering in her ear, "You win."

This is absolutely the perfect dress for her. I'm rewarded with a bright smile as she gloats, "Of course I did," she whispers back.

"What a shame. I really wanted to kiss you," I admit it without a second thought.

"You'll just have to try harder on the next bet."

I think the bet is becoming a silent way of us expressing our feelings. I also think that we are at a silent agreement that we have conversations to be had until we can fully go into this.

The problem is that neither of us are brave enough to say it allowed.

"Alright then. I bet that your parent's will love me." I make the next bet as quickly as possible.

I untie the ribbon for her and watch as she undresses, leaning against the wall of the dressing room.

"That's not fair. You're a hockey goalie and they are major hockey fans. They already love you." I internally sigh when she pulls a shirt over her head.

"Just the one?" The employee questions when we walk out.

Sam hands her the dress I picked, "Yep. Thank you," she says.

"Ok, then I bet I can beat you in a game of Just Dance," I challenge.

"Fine by me, I'm great at Just Dance. I'll even let you pick the song." She pays for her dress. I swear it's like a mission when she's in the mall. Or any store really. She gets exactly what she comes for with no messing around.

"You don't even need to think of what you want in the off chance that you win. I'm like a dad playing Just Dance. I could sit down moving the remote with little effort and hit perfect every time."