"It doesn't fit."
"It fits."
"No, it doesn't."
"Yes, it does."
"Hey, I like tight dresses probably more than most men, but-how should I put this?-you're falling out of it, and you're zipped only about halfway in back."
"It fits," I say through clenched teeth.
"If you don't want an honest opinion, why did you invite me to your room to see it on you?"
"I didn't invite you in," I remind him. "You invited yourself. But I don't need you anymore. Your plan worked."
Dirk is sitting on my bed, and he looks deflated. Wounded. I've wounded him more than a bear could. I bite my lip. I don't want to hurt him. So much so that I'll even take fashion advice from him.
"Okay. Okay. So tell me what to wear," I say.
"Don't ask me. I like you best naked."
"What? What did you say?"
"You heard me."
