“Does it look good?”

“Mhmm,” I hum, my brain and my mouth no longer working in tandem to pronounce proper nouns or adjectives. “Yeah, I mean … you look really good.”

Fuck, was I drooling?

“I like it.” Wyatt stares at himself in the mirror, still looking mildly uncomfortable. I wonder if the price is still an issue.

“Every guy should have a nice suit,” I say. “It’s the backbone of a decent wardrobe.”

“You don’t own a suit.”

“I own several; I just don’t keep them at school.”

“Sir, would you like to try yours on?” the associate asks me.

Unlike Wyatt, I don’t need help. I’ve always liked suits; I don’t really know why. When I was younger, and before I realized that I’m trans, I thought suits were way cooler than dresses. Now I recognize that dresses and skirts are stunning—they’re just not for me, not like a suit. I just like the way it hugs my body, the way that it seems to make me present.

It almost feels like I’m baring my chest proudly to the world even though I’m wearing two whole layers.

And I have to give it to Michael and Ashley—the purple isn’t bad at all.

Wyatt’s still looking at himself when I walk out. Then he stares at me, taking it all in.

“Well?” I ask.

“You look great,” he says with humor in his voice.

I wonder if he’s being genuine.

“Would you like to make any alterations?” the associate asks, and after several long seconds of looking at ourselves and each other, Wyatt and I both determine that our suits are ready to go. The associate packages them and offers to have them delivered to the hotel by the end of the day, so they’re totally out of our hands.

I’m still thinking about Wyatt in his suit when we’re walking outside. Does he even realize how hot he looked? I have to direct Wyatt to stand straight, to push his shoulders back. He almost seems slumped over, and I understand his discomfort, but we need to make sure he looks good.

And he certainly does. Something about boys in suits …

But also, why the hell am I so obsessed with how he looked in that suit?

What is going on with me?

“Hey?” Wyatt’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. When I look at him, he’s staring down at me, his smile out in full force, that slight gap in his two front teeth worn like a badge of honor. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just … hungry, is all.”

“I am too. Can we grab lunch?”

“Sure.”

“You have anywhere in mind?”

I give him a look. “Oh, you have no idea.”

*  *  *

Of course, I have to take Wyatt to In-N-Out.