WRECK ME QUIETLY
I found a pair of soft denim shorts that hugged my hips in the kind of way that made me feel hot.
Stupid brain.
Stupid Mason.
While Macey FaceTimed her boyfriend, David, to ask if her neckline was too distracting (it was), I wandered off with an iced latte and ended up in Victoria’s Secret.
It smelled like vanilla and roses. The kind of place you go to feel powerful, even if you’re falling apart inside.
I browsed the lingerie aisle slowly, letting my fingers drift over silk and lace like I had any reason to.
Like I was the kind of girl who wore red satin bras for herself, not because she was trying to forget the boy who made her feel like everything and nothing at once.
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