So, I find myself agreeing.

“Okay.”

Sloane shakes her head. “No. The black was better.”

I yank the purple top over my head and scramble to pull the black tank back on.

“Actually, I think you should wear the white.”

I might strangle her.

Sloane loves imparting fashion wisdom on others. She’s mostly given up on me as a lost cause. Twenty-plus years of friendship, and I mostly wear sweatshirts and leggings, especially in the winter. Or scrubs now.

It says a lot about my level of nerves that I asked her to help me pick out an outfit for tonight. And it’s a decision I’m regretting.

I sigh as I swap the black shirt for the white one. The sun I got this morning offsets the pale color.

Sloane smiles. “Perfect.”

The doorbell rings. Anxiety explodes in my stomach like a firework. Why did I agree to this? I must be a masochist.

I smooth down the gauzy material of my shirt and take a deep breath before I pick up my purse.

“Have fun. Let me know if I should make myself scarce later.” Sloane waggles her brows in a poor imitation of a pervert, as if I could have possibly missed the insinuation behind her words.

“You won’t need to.”

“Uh-huh. You’re barely attracted to the guy.”

I hesitate. “Am I being stupid, agreeing to this? It hurt so much before, and that wasn’t anything like this. If it ends this time, I can’t even…”

Sloane slides off the bed and stands in front of me. “You’re not stupid, Evie. It takes courage to try something that failed before. You’re not weak; you’re brave. And we both know that if you don’t do this, you’ll always regret it. So, go.”

She smacks my butt, which she declared looks “damn good” in these skinny jeans, which were an endeavor to get into. If anything does happen between me and Gray tonight, he’s going to have to literally peel them off me.

“Go!”

I spin and give her a hug before heading for the front door.

When I open it, all I can see is a bouquet of pink peonies. It lowers to reveal Gray’s smirk.

“Did you get lost on the way to the door?”

I hate that he’s making this easy. It’s a struggle to hold my glower in place as I take the flowers from him. “Thank you,” I say grudgingly, ignoring his comment about how long I took to appear.

“You’re welcome.”

“Stay here.” I shut the door in his face, then release a shaky breath. Two minutes, and my resolve is cut in half. I want to kiss him.

Sloane walks into the kitchen as I’m sorting through a cabinet, looking for a vase to put the flowers in.

“What’s going on?”

“He brought flowers.” I point to the offending, beautiful blooms.