"Is this better?" I ask coming out of the dressing room.

Like the previous seven times, Alek looks me from top to bottom judging everything with a critical eye. He might be always dressed almost exactly every single day, but apparently he's got an eye for fashion. Something was absent in my girl-DNA or something.

"Much better. The green goes well with your hair and The cut fits your figure perfectly."

He might be right, as far as dress goes, this one's not really provocative without being a burka either.

"We picking this one?" I ask, impatient to stop changing every two minutes.

"It will do perfectly."

"Finally..." I mutters as I go back inside the dressing room to change back into my regular clothes. It's a pretty mellow day so I ditched sweaters and hoodies and just put on a black tee with "WYSIWYG" written on it. 

When I'm done, he's already paid for the dress, my intuition says it's so I don't see the actual cost, everything in the store seems to cost and arm and a leg...

"We're finally done..." I sigh out.

"We still have to get you shoes, a manicure and a hair stylist." He comments.

I stop dead in his wake and after a second he turns around with a puzzled look on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Did I just get pushed into extreme make over or what?" I ask sardonically.

"What do you mean?"

"Look I'm fine with accompanying you to that party, but I feel like you just want someone on your arm to look good to your buddies." I spit the words at him furiously.

He stands there blinking for a few seconds before mumbling back "Well, I thought you'd like it, like most women--"

I cut him and scream "I am not just any woman!" 

I hate these kinds of guys that think that just because I've got a rack it defines my interests and the entirety of my desires in life.

I walk away, storming out of the store. I make a few steps out into the sunlight before I feel him grab my hand. I'm about to jerk off to get him to let go when he takes the other and stands behind me, his mouth close to my ear, his breath softly breezing on my neck.

"Let me go!" I snarl as I ram my elbow down his stomach, making him grunt.

"Cassandra, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to frustrate you. I just assumed things I shouldn't have..."

I take a moment to breathe deeply to calm down and he lets go of my hands. I turn toward him and explain; "Don't ever treat me 'just like a girl.' My gender isn't who am I. Do you understand?"

"I do and again, I apologize."

"We've got a deal?"

"We do."

"One last thing; If you make a PMS joke, I'll kick you!" I threaten him semi-seriously.

The End

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