and rumi is unprepared
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Summary
“Well,” Mira starts descriptively, “You were wearing the tank top.”
Rumi’s eyes are filling with tears, and Zoey grabs one of her hands, shooting a glare at Mira that says, ‘Get to the point.’
“And it was really hot.”
“I know it was,” Rumi says, burying her face in the pillow again. “That’s why I was wearing the tank top.”
Mira smacks her forehead. “Not the weather, Rumi. You looked hot.”
Rumi’s tears stop, but she just looks like they told her she had grown another head. “What?”
Zoey sighs, taking the conversation into her own hands. “You’ve never worn anything that low-cut. Your patterns were out, and it was hot. So we…”
“Fucked about it?” Mira offers, and Zoey looks half-ready to strangle her.