“Are you serious?”
I jut out my bottom lip and wait her out.
She shifts her stance. “What’s her body type?”
“Perfect.”
I get the eye roll again. That makes three, if you’re counting, and I am. “Lucky her.”
I grin. “Lucky me.”
“Well, it would help if you explain what you think qualifies as perfect, Mr. Water?”
“My wife,” I say. Not just because you are, but also because there’s nothing that pisses a lonely, miserable woman off more than seeing another woman who is adored.
She shoots me a look, and it’s one that could kill. It confirms the sentiment and that much makes me happy. I watch her as she thinks for a second and then she walks out on the floor, where the dresses are. She doesn’t beckon me to follow, she just assumes I will, and so I call her bluff.
She brings me three dress
