At the age of 5, Siobhan Bähr might've not been able to communicate as well as other children, but she was already halfway through her father's old advanced calculus textbook.
She was born exceptionally smart --something she tries to see more as a g...
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Song: Push it on me - Damien
Chapter 51. Tell Them I'm Awesome
"A dress? You want me to wear a fucking dress?"
"Everyone wears a dress for their first date!"
"I'm gonna freeze my tits out there, Noelle." I huff, crossing my arms over my chest like a petulant child. Choosing an outfit doesn't have to be this hard. If Noelle is trying to distract me from counting down the minutes until Harry arrives, she's doing a bad job. What if I'm not ready when he arrives? It's even more embarrassing to have him wait.
My best friend rolls her eyes, and matches my stare with one of her own motherly one, "Fine. Dress pants and a satin shirt."
Today, like days before, is freezing cold. Brighton was hit with a storm ever since I got here. Either it's been raining nonstop or there's thundering clouds looming in the horizon.
I blink twice. "That's how I dress to go to the office, Nol."
Telling Noelle about my date with Harry is what best friends do, but letting her choose my outfit is where I need to draw the line. Harry first met me in dirty overalls all those years ago in his One Direction era and my I-Don't-Give-A-Fuck-About-Appearances years when I had a lapse in judgement. According to Noelle, I always lacked the fashion sense that every woman is supposedly born with. But now, she can agree that I somehow found it since I started working at Space X.
"What about, ripped boyfriend jeans and off the shoulder shirt?" She offers, bringing the piece of clothing to my bed. Let me point out, that I did not bring any boyfriend jeans to Brighton. This is all Noelle's wardrobe.
"Nol, Harry has seen me in my underwear. I don't really think he cares about what I wear." I wince at the memories of Harry carrying my drunk ass at Noelle's Bachelorette Party and let's not forget the fact that he witnessed my dirty dancing for the bride.
As if reading my mind she says, "He might no care about what you wear, but he sure as hell cares about your underwear." She wiggles her eyebrows.
I choke mortified, my face goes red and there's no math that can distract me from the dirty thoughts running through my head. "Noelle!"
She laughs at my face. "What? It's true. Babe, you're gorgeous underneath all that stunning intelligence."
I immediately turn around and start rummaging through my suitcase with shaky fingers, I pull out black jeans, a fluffy cream sweater and boots. "This is better." I smile, trying to be convincing.
