How to Be a Bad Girl ✔

Chapter Six - Reinventing the Matchstick Girl

~Sophia's POV~

"Strip."

Mackenzie's eyes widen. "What?" her voice flips.

"Take off your clothes," I repeat myself slower this time so she can understand me.

"Wh-" she stutters. She continues to blink rapidly while her anxiety is written all over her face. Her mouth opens and closes a few times but the only noises she makes are incoherent ones.

"You don't need to take off your underwear, just take off your shirt and pants!" I explain.

I know how it must've sounded like for the shopkeeper outside. Honestly, we probably sound like a couple of lesbians who are looking for some sexy time in a dressing room. But I'm telling you, that is absolutely not what's happening here.

"I-I'm not gonna take my clothes off in front of you!" she continues, drawing her hands to cover her tiny body.

"Relax, we're both girls," I try to assure her. "Besides, how do you expect me to help you if I don't know what exactly I'm dealing with?"

She gulps loudly, her brown eyes move rapidly to the sides while she bites her lower lips. After a while, she lets out a long sigh, seemingly making up her mind.

"Fine," she says, her voice soft.

With clear hesitation still filling her eyes, she begins to take off her clothes. My eyes widen in shock when her pink Polo shirt is finally out of the way.

"What?!" My voice is so loud I bet Dylan could hear us from outside the shop. "A fucking sports bra?!"

"Shh!" She anxiously brings a finger to my mouth while her face turns red like a tomato. Her glance is thrown back and forth between me and the door. "Keep it down, will ya?"

"How in the world..." I throw my hands to the air, still refusing to believe there's a 19-year-old girl who's still wearing a sports bra anywhere she goes. No wonder she looks like a stick!

I give a small sigh. "Pay attention," I say with a stern voice. "Rule number one" - I hold out a finger - "sports bra is strictly, and I mean strictly, for when you're at home or when you're working out."

Taking a mental note, she takes a deep breath and nods repeatedly. "O-okay. So what should I wear?"

I bite my inner lip while I observe her breasts. They're small for sure, but I've seen worse.

"Should I use some stuffings?" she asks. "I mean, I've heard people actually use that..."

"No, no." I shake my head. "You just need the right type of bra, that's all."

"Oh..." she mutters.

I take one last look at her chest, quickly measuring it. "Wait here."

I spin on my heels and leave the dressing room. Once I walk outside, my earlier prediction is proven true. The two shopkeeper ladies are standing outside the dressing room with their ears perched on the wall, having been listening to our conversation the whole time.

Talk about unprofessionalism.

When they see me, the two of them quickly stand up straight. They pat their hands on their sides, trying to act professional, as if they weren't just eavesdropping on a customer. I give them a killing glare, silently saying 'shame on you.'

"Which way are the push-up bras?" I ask with a flat and rather bitchy tone.

"Right this way," one of the shopkeeper stutters before showing me the way.