My Best Friend's Gorgeous Boyfriend (18+)

Let's hear your thoughts on that chapter title.

Warning: Self-harm is a topic of conversation in this chapter.

Addison

"I look hot!" I exclaimed, holding up my cell and snapping photos of my leather ensemble. "Wait until Carter sees me in this. He's going to combust into flames of passion."

"Who's Carter?" Matt called from the bathroom where he was changing. "Actually, don't answer that. I refuse to be an accomplice in your crime of breaking another innocent man's heart."

I smoothed out the crease on the thigh of my leather pants as I admired my reflection in the full-length mirror, appreciating that the silver studs lining the sides gave the outfit a touch of glimmer.

"Personally, I would have chosen a corset top instead of this oversized, black trash bag of a shirt that you've got me wrapped in, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I know how much of a hard-on you get for these pops of dreariness."

"At least you're happy with the way you look," he murmured. "I feel utterly...ridiculous."

"If you want to chat about foolishness," I replied. "Then please, let's discuss the atrocity that you've done to my hair." I slicked my tresses back into a high ponytail to attempt to disguise the streaks of red that were pinned in throughout.

Matt chuckled in response. "I thought you would be pleased that I infused some color into your style."

I glanced over as the bathroom door creaked open and he strode out, holding up his hands in a shrug. "See? There's a reason why I don't dress like this."

I froze from fussing with my ponytail as my sights swept over the light wash denim jeans and cornflower blue polo top that he wore. Sighing in annoyance, he ran his fingers through his hair, that without any gel to hold it into place, kept falling across his eyes.

"Um...yea," I stuttered. "Totally blech." 

Gulping, I turned my focus back onto my reflection but found my gaze repeatedly wandering over towards Matt again. The color of his shirt brought out the deep blue that flecked his irises, and without any product darkening his locks, the hue was a softer chestnut.

When he had agreed to let me dress him up into a clone of one of my many jock crushes, I hadn't anticipated him to look so, well...hot. 

With a sneer, he wiggled his foot out in front of him. "These Adidas shoes are so preppy. You couldn't have chosen something else?"

"Just be grateful I didn't put you in loafers," I retorted, rolling my eyes. "And I don't want to hear any complaints. You picked out combat boots for me, Matt. Honestly, the least you could have done was pick a pair with a heel."

A dimple pierced his cheek as his eyes roamed up my figure. "I'm a bit surprised you didn't push back harder on that one, but I guess you're saving the real tantrum for being seen in public sans make-up."

I held up a palm to him. "Please, can you not mention that? I'm still a bit sensitive that you referred to my highlighter as a Bat signal for all the Barbies who are in distress over their foundation not matching their neck."

He grimaced upon catching sight of his reflection. "Oh God, where's my Bat signal?" he muttered, sticking his hands into the pockets of his boot-cut jeans. "I'm practically drowning in these."

I scoffed. "Don't be so dramatic. They aren't that baggy. You're just used to pants so tight that they cut off your circulation."

I snuck another glance at him and had to admit that fitted wasn't always a bad thing. The polo that strained against the muscles of his torso were certainly doing him a favor.