He started thumbing through his phone, oblivious to me checking him out. “You don’t want to be uncomfortable. It’ll show.”

“But what if everything that’s comfortable to me is boring?”

He stopped texting, arching a brow at me. “Trust me, nothing you wear is boring.”

I gave him a flat look. “You know what I mean. You’ve seen the girls who salivate over him at the foot of the stage.” I sighed, looking back at my closet. “I don’t have anything like that.”

“You don’t need anything like that.” Clay snapped his fingers. “Oh! Wear the kitten skirt. My favorite. Makes your ass look—”

“Don’t finish that,” I warned. “And I can’t. I was wearing that last time he saw me.”

Clay blinked when I stared at him like that was an obvious issue.

I groaned, waving my hand at him and turning back to the closet. “Just… be quiet so I can focus. And stay away from my books.”

“Your porn? Sure thing.”

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t grace him with a response as I paged through my blouse options. I paused when I came to a simple, white, short-sleeved button up, plucking it out and laying it over the back of my desk chair before I started swiping through again.

“Did I tell you Maliyah texted me?”

I whipped around. “Already?”

Clay’s smirk was that of the Cheshire Cat as he nodded. “Right after lunch on Chart Day.”

“Wow,” I mused, turning back to my closet. “That didn’t take long.”

“All she said was hi.”

“What did you say back?”

“Nothing.”

I whipped around again, holding a black skirt with little white hearts stitched all over it in one hand. “What do you mean, nothing?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t answer.”

“Why on Earth not?”

“Because that’s what she wanted. If I would have answered, she would have known I’m not over her, and that whether or not you and I are together, she still has power over me.” He held up his finger. “But by not answering her, I showed her I’m not bothered in the least by her being here, that I’ve moved on.”

I blinked. “Okay…”

But as I turned back to find the right shoes, I found myself shaking my head and wondering if all these games would ever make sense to me.

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing,” Clay said. “You’ll see after tonight. That is, if you ever pick an outfit.”

I was sifting through my drawer of socks and stockings, and I turned long enough to peg him with a bundled-up pair that made him chuckle.

“Be right back,” I said, disappearing into my bathroom.

Ten minutes later, I came back out to find Clay propped against my headboard reading one of my motorcycle club romances.