Earth Angel by Siri Caldwell Page A

Gwynne cringed at herself, but she couldn’t stop. “—an alien frog?”
    “An alien frog.” Abby sounded dubious.
    “A cute alien frog?”
    Abby frowned. “I gave up alien frogs for Lent.”
    “Too many princesses following you around?”
    “Too many frogs.”
    All goofiness abandoned, Abby knelt beside the bed and twisted her body to look underneath the bed skirt. Her toes bumped into Gwynne’s shoe which, despite the frog comment, caused another spike in her blood pressure. Gwynne snatched her feet out of the way.
    “You don’t need to move,” Abby said with her head halfway under the bed as she dragged out shoes and flung them behind her like a cat scattering kitty litter.
    Gwynne balanced on her tailbone, her feet hovering an inch above the bed. “Do you want me to start taking stuff to the van? The dress?”
    “No, thanks.” Abby straightened and surveyed her choices with a critical eye. She picked out a pair of plum-colored strappy heels and pushed the rest of the mess in a jumble back under the bed. “I’m going to change into my dress before we go.”
    She was? Like, right now? Gwynne lowered her feet to the floor and ran her palms along the stitched seams of the quilt. This was what she got for being prompt. No, not prompt. Early. She’d made a point to be early because it was either that or be late, because she wasn’t good with clocks. She’d always figured life went more smoothly for responsible people who showed up on time, but it seemed she’d been gravely mistaken. Because if she’d been late, Abby would already be dressed. Instead, Gwynne was going to wait in the other room and hope a certain frog-hater couldn’t sense her imagination was running rampant.
    “Where did you think I was going to change?” Abby said. “On the beach?”
    So she’d forgotten that tiny detail, what with all the bra waving. Bras always distracted her.
    “Guess the sandy public restrooms aren’t going to cut it,” she acknowledged. “I’ll get out of here.”
    “Stay. I’ll just be a minute.” Abby had turned her back to her and was already pulling off her crocheted sweater.
    Gwynne jumped off the bed and tripped over a belt and a dirty sock in her haste to face away from her. She should leave. Abby had told her to stay, but…she should leave. She spotted a gold circlet lying on top of a pile of hair accessories on top of the dresser and fumbled for it to give herself something to do so she wasn’t standing there, motionless, like an idiot. Abby should have kicked her out. She shouldn’t just pull off her clothes like there was no attraction between them. Either Abby was oblivious, which she doubted, or she was pushing her. Or she was oblivious. Gwynne’s thoughts circled dizzyingly. She had to be oblivious.
    She turned the circlet in her hands, studiously keeping her eyes away from the mirror above the dresser so she wouldn’t see Abby’s hands go to the button of her jeans. Too bad she couldn’t cover her ears too, because hearing her step out of her clothes was almost as unnerving as she imagined watching her would be.
    Fabric rustled, making her imagine the satin skirt brushing against Abby’s legs. She glanced in the mirror. She couldn’t help it. Abby was contorting her arms behind her, struggling with the mile-long zipper down the back of her dress, muttering about having gained weight. She wiggled and hopped and sucked in her stomach, but the zipper went nowhere.
    The dress looked completely different now that it was on her body. The wisps of color looked great against her skin tone. And because Gwynne could see her aura, she could appreciate how the dress complemented the full spectrum of her personal coloring to dazzling effect. And the wiggling—the wiggling was hard to look away from.
    “How does this tiara thing stay on your head?” Gwynne asked, her voice gruff.
    Abby looked over her shoulder and steadily met her gaze in the mirror. “Bobby pins.” The Duh, what else would