Josh pulls the dressing room curtain back and walks out, holding his arms out at his sides. He’s wearing a black button down shirt and the dark khaki pants and um…

He looks.

So.

Hot.

“I’m totally overdressed.”

“No, you look…” I shake my head, at a loss for words. Which is stupid. It’s just Josh.

It’s.

Just.

Josh.

“I look what? Bad?” He’s frowning, staring down at his chest, running his fingers over the shirt buttons.

“You definitely don’t look bad.” My voice is firm. My thoughts are going haywire. I think about the pact we made, how crazy I thought he was for bringing it up.

But hey. Maybe there’s something to this “let’s lose our virginity to each other” deal.

Nah. That’s crazy talk.

He lifts his head, his gaze meeting mine. “So I look…good?”

“You look great.” Understatement. He looks hot like fire. But I can’t tell him that. “You need a haircut.” I say this to break the tension, because there is so much freaking tension right now. Am I the only one who’s experiencing it? Or does he feel it, too?

“Yeah. I know I do.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up so it’s a riotous mass on top of his head. My gaze lingers, and I’m tempted to run my fingers through his thick hair and straighten it out.

Oh. My. God. Stop thinking like this!

“Go try on something else,” I tell him, waving my hands and shooing him away. He needs to go. Get behind that curtain and hide for a few minutes so I can gather my thoughts. “Try on one of the flannel shirts and the jeans.”

“Okay.” He sends me a questioning look before he slips back into the dressing room.

I breathe out a sigh of relief, my shoulders slumping. What just happened? I don’t like feeling this way toward Josh. Thinking he’s hot, being attracted to him. It makes me…uncomfortable?

Well, it should make me uncomfortable.

“Your boyfriend is cute.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I watch the sales associate who greeted us when we first walked into the store approach. She’s super cute with a bohemian vibe. Long wavy golden hair almost to her butt, a black choker around her neck, she’s wearing a flower print, flowing dress that swirls around her ankles when she walks.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I tell her.

Her eyebrows go up. “You could’ve fooled me.”

I’m scowling. “What do you mean?”

“You two looked totally into each other.”

“Yeah.” I laugh, but it feels forced. “No. We’re just friends.”

“Uh huh.” The knowing smile she sends my way tells me she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. Whatever. “Let me know if you need any new sizes or whatever, okay?”