Miles to Go (ON HOLD)

3. Stage One

Sang

I was out of my element. Gabriel was a fashion hurricane. "Trouble!"

"Yeah?" I stared at the pink and black plaid skirt critically, smoothing it down again and double checking it wasn't too short. The problem was I liked it, and I knew I shouldn't. Shouldn't even be trying it on, actually, but Gabe had agreed we were just window shopping, so I guess it was fine. We were just seeing what was out there.

"Lemme see," Gabe said exasperatedly.

"Meanie, I don't-"

"Is it on?" he asked.

"Um, yes."

"Then open up, Trouble."

It wasn't that easy. I had armfuls of clothes back here with me, and Gabe had been orchestrating how it all paired up. It had started off fine, with jeans and what Gabe said were basic shirts at the first store, but now it was getting dressier with this outfit. I looked at the price tag on the sleeveless top I was wearing and cringed. It was almost a hundred dollars. I touched the beading detail at the neck and sighed. Of course it was. "Gabe, I can't..."

"Trouble, it's been almost ten whole minutes since I've seen that lovely face of yours. Do you know how long ten minutes is? Too long."

"Meanie, can't I-"

"Trouble, do you trust me?" His voice sounded closer now, like he was pressed against the door of the changing room.

"Yes," I replied quickly, since I did. I just wasn't sure if I should even be trying on clothes like this. I mean, this shirt alone was probably worth more than the entire wardrobe I'd had while I'd lived with the Sorensons. I stared at myself in the mirror, idly playing my fingers across the pearls along the collar of the shirt before I realized I was tugging on one of them too tightly. I couldn't afford to accidentally pull one loose, I thought, stilling my hand against my collarbone.

"Damn, Trouble. You look amazing."

I whirled around to find Gabe leaning haphazardly in the dressing room doorway, assessing the skirt and top I was wearing with a critical eye. "Gabe! What're you doing?"

"You wouldn't come out, so I came in," he said matter-of-factly. "Wait, is that ok? Shit," he muttered, running a hand through his brown and blonde locks, briefly mixing the colors.

I wasn't uncomfortable, just surprised. I dismissed his question for one of my own. "But wasn't the door locked?"

"Was it?" he asked as he tilted his head, his gaze dipping from my eyes to my outfit. He moved closer, inspecting the length of the skirt, and I found myself catching my breath when his fingers accidentally brushed across the tops of my thighs, sending a now familiar tingle through my legs.

"I just... I shouldn't try stuff like this on," I admitted, finally able to breathe as he took a step back, now idly stroking his chin, his eyes trained on the shirt's beaded collar. "I can't-"

"Nope, Trouble. No can'ts allowed. I forbid it."

"Meanie?"

"Can't is a fucking horrible word, Trouble. Evil people invented it to keep people like you and me from accomplishing shit. Now - what do you think?" He asked, indicating the skirt and top I was wearing.

"It's beautiful Gabe, but I can't-"

He placed a single finger to my lips to silence me, and I absently heard him remind me about using the word, but I'd stilled at the contact, looking up at him as I felt my breathing shallow. His usual teasing grin disappeared, his gaze now searching as the slight pressure of his finger on my lips hinted at a different kind of pressure, a pressure that I suddenly wanted to experience. His eyes fell to my mouth before his touch shifted, the pad of his finger gently dragging across my lips before lightly tracing my bottom one. I froze, as time seemed to suspend itself between us, and then Gabe took a step back.