When we get a second to ourselves, I whisper, “Some of them won’t stop staring.” Issac’s quiet for a moment, but his eyes trace the length of me, lingering on my midsection before making it back to my face. He licks his lips and leans in close. “I’m convinced anything you wear will have them staring,” he says, “but this dress…that body. Your hips.” Heat flicks across my chest. I can’t believe he just said that. But he pulls back enough to meet my eyes and there’s no denying the daring glint in his.
