HAZEL
Dress shopping turns into a yelling match the moment we get to the mall. Apparently, Asher can’t walk two seconds without trying to mess with my hair.
I had spent an embarrassing amount of time in front of the mirror, styling and getting it to look nice. The fact that he hasn’t noticed and just keeps messing it up, pisses me off.
We’re both in the cocktail dress section, staring at a room full of really expensive dresses. There’s a screen opposite the room, for changing. Asher tugs on my braid and I finally lose it.
“Quit it, will you?” I growl. “I’m not above punching your face in.”
“Go ahead,” he grins. “I’ll f**k you behind that flimsy screen if you so much as lay a finger on my face.” His grin grows when I falter. “Come on freckles. Do it. Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
“Yo
