Amy kept pacing back and forth in her bedroom. Her room was tiny, so there wasn’t much room to pace, but she made it work. She had to think.
“This is stupid,” she muttered under her breath. She touched the hem of her shirt—a shirt she had changed three times already.
“Jeans and a blouse. Jeans. And. A. Blouse.” She spoke each word like a mantra. She looked at herself in the mirror and blew out a breath. It was a simple outfit, and she looked plain as usual. But who really cares? Lucas had seen her already, so it was not like she had to impress him.
“Lucas may have that smoldering, infuriating knack for making me second-guess myself,” she acknowledged to her reflection, “but not today. Today, I am the epitome of casual indifference.” Besides, she was still kind of mad at him.
Okay, mayb
