But I digress.
Bottom line, I’ve learned a lot since that first time, and I find sex to be quite enjoyable. Not earth-shattering by any means, but fun.
Still, I don’t just fall into bed with men. I have to go out with them a few times, start to feel comfortable with them. I have to actually like and respect them to get naked. It’s just an integrity thing with me. So all that being said, sex with Aaron is not happening tonight. It’s too soon.
“Did you shave?” Veronica asks.
“Nope,” I say with a grin into the mirror. I’ve already done my makeup, and, I have to say, I look pretty good. I don’t wear it a lot… usually only if I go out at night, much preferring not to mess with it at all. But I did a dark gray on my eyes, smoky underneath, and my lashes are so long they’ll rub against my glasses.
Hmmm.
I set the wand down, then grab my glasses off the sink. They’re only needed for reading—progressive bifocals, actually. I put them on and, sure enough, my lashes with my extra-thick formula mascara rub irritatingly against the lenses.
“Crap,” I mutter, taking them off.
“What?” Veronica asks.
“I’m going to have to put my contacts in and I haven’t worn them in so long they’re probably going to irritate my eyes all night.”
“But Aaron will be able to see your lovely eyes up close. They’re by far your best feature.”
“Gee, thanks,” I reply dryly, curling the last lock of hair that needs a spiral. “I thought it was my keen intellect and humor.”
“Yeah, maybe if you were sixty years old, widowed, and looking to score a new man at that age.”
She has a point.
I remove the wand, turn it off, and set it down, giving myself a comprehensive look in the mirror. “Okay… on a scale of one to ten, I think I’m a solid eight tonight.”
“You take off a point for hairy legs?” Veronica asks.
My voice is sullen. “No.”
“Then you’re a seven,” she says confidently, and I can’t help but let my laughter fill my small bathroom. “But seriously… here’s my pep talk. Have a great time, okay? We both know sex isn’t happening with hairy legs and pits, but you better come out of it with at least a hot kiss or two to tell me about, okay?”
“Got it,” I reply, snapping off a salute she can’t see. “Call you when I get home?”
“I’ll be waiting,” she says, then blows a kiss into the phone before disconnecting.
I glance at the time, realizing I have less than five minutes before Aaron is due to arrive. Grabbing some lip gloss, I slather a bit on and pucker my lips.
Then I lunge for my small linen closet beside the toilet, scrounging for a box of contacts. It’s been weeks since I wore them, and I hope this doesn’t spell disaster. Worst-case scenario, I’ll bring my glasses as back up, and I’ll deal with the irritation of my lashes smudging up my lenses if need be.
When the doorbell finally rings, I’ve been so busy with last-minute touches I haven’t even had time to get nervous. It hits me now, though, with a massive tilt to my stomach and a moment of nausea.
I swallow it down, remembering how sweet Aaron was when I told him about my great humiliation and how persistent he was in seeking a date with me. While I’m still skittish and wary, he’s proven to be nothing more than a nice—albeit famous—guy so far. It still scares me a bit, but it isn’t debilitating.
I dash through my small house and open the front door, realizing I forgot to put my shoes on. My first look at Aaron causes my breath to catch, and I wonder if I’ll ever get used to his level of hotness. He told me to dress semi-casually. He’s wearing navy dress slacks and a golf shirt with the Vengeance logo on it. It fits his large frame well, stretching across his broad expanse of chest and fitting oh so snugly around his thick biceps.
His hair is brushed back from his face, a slight wave held in place with gel, and he’s clean-shaven. I take a small sniff, and damn… whatever cologne he’s wearing smells good.
Only after I thoroughly ogle him do I finally look up and notice he’s checking me out to the same degree. There’s something on his face I’ve not seen before. He’s told me I’m pretty—beautiful, actually—but he’s never seen me with my hair down or evening makeup applied. My auburn hair falls in gentle waves around my shoulders, stopping halfway down my back. I disagree with Veronica, considering my hair my best feature.
My jumpsuit is straight out of Veronica’s closet, same as the last two outfits I’d worn on my dates with Aaron. It’s not like I don’t appreciate nice clothes or enjoy buying them, but it’s kind of useless to do so when my bestie is a super-rich divorcee fashionista who wears the same size as I do.