She continued climbing the stairs, her hand on the railing. She looked up at me and laughed, “What is it?”

I was shocked by what she said. She likes me? It’s one of the many reasons she likes me. What could be the other reasons?

“It’s nothing,” I said as we made it to the last step. I walked toward my room. This area was less lavish and not as nicely decorated. The red rug was more faded here. I opened my room door.

It was much smaller than Margo’s. By a lot. I had a twin size bed, a desk, and a dresser. Margo walked in, she looked around the room. I kicked some dirty laundry under my bed and bent down to make my bed.

“I’m sorry, it’s such a mess,” I said. 

“It’s not a big deal. It’s lived in,” she answered.

I stopped, “I shouldn’t be cleaning now, I should find you something to wear. Hopefully you will fit.”

I dug through my dressers looking for something nice. I pull out a pair of jeans and a button up shirt that had small ufos on it. I dropped each article on the floor and grabbed some white socks next.

“Try those on,” I said still digging through my dresser. Margo bent down and grabbed the clothes. She looked a them.

“These are cute. I’ve never seen you wear these,” She said.

“Yeah. I always plan to, but I like my uniform.”

“You are always wearing it, it’s like you have nothing else. I’m happy to see you have more taste,” she teased. 

I turned to look over at her. Her back is to me as she takes off her dress. I’ve seen her bare body thousands of times. Each curve and bump, the tiny pimple on her back, all are familiar to me. I can picture it with my eyes close. She looked over her shoulder and smiled.

“I didn’t know I would have an audience,” she said turn straight towards me. She wearing a white lacey bra with a pair of matching underwear. She took a step closer, still holding the button up shirt. “Maybe, I’ll need–,”

I interuprt her, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to stare. I can leave if you want!” 

She sighs, “No, no. You’re fine.” She puts on the button up. She does so slowly and after she pushed each one through the hole she would look up at me. She then does her pants, turning so her back faces me. She bends down, her butt up high in the air. I’ve never seen her dress this way before.

Every move feels deliberate and intentional. I’m not sure what she is trying to convey. Is she trying to slow down time? Make us late?

“If you don’t want to go, you just have to say so,” I tell her.

“I want to go,” she said as she stood up. She turned around to face me. The button up was a little big for her, which made sense. I always preferred my clothing loose. The shirt hung over the jeans.

“How do I look,” she asked with a small spin.

“Beautiful like always,” I answered. She stopped spinning and stared at me.

“But, let’s tuck that shirt in,” I added taking a step closer. Margo nodded. She turned her back to me, and grabbed my arms. She wrapped my arms around her and began to hum.

“I like these moments,” she whispered. Her head leans against my chest.

“Do you want me to tuck your shirt in for you,” I ask. She nodded and grabbed my hands, guiding my to tucking the shirt in. I refused to pull away. I wanted to at times, but I just couldn’t.

“Your fingers are cold,” she mumbled and brough my hand close to her face. She tried to blow warm air onto my hands and brought them so close to her lips that it was like she was going to kiss them.

I yank my hand away, “We’re going to be late.”