After wrestling with the taffeta of a hot pink poof-sleeved one in the back of my closet and practically falling over when I finally do get it out, I throw it on and return to the call without so much as a look in the mirror.
The way I figure, if this doesn’t convince Josie that my aunt’s ‘retro steals’ are really just her ‘things I can’t be bothered to throw out so here you go’, then nothing will.
Once I point the camera toward me and do a head-to-toe scan, there’s a long few moments of utter silence. Then, Josie bursts out laughing.
“Oh, goddamn,” she cackles when she finally has enough breath to speak.
“Told you,” I say drily. “Now am I allowed to try on the ones I wanted to in the first place? I have less than twenty minutes now to decide.”
Still cracking up, she says, “Fine.”
The next dress, she goes all quiet.
“I know,” I say. “It’s not really me. Too low in the front and—”
“Shut up,” she says.
“Wow, thanks.”
“No, I mean”—already Josie is bobbing her head with determination—“just look. That’s it. That’s the dress.”
Now it’s my turn to grumble “fine,” although I do head over to my full-length mirror to take a look for myself.
“Am I right, or am I right?” Josie asks.
When I don’t answer, she sighs. “OK, OK, I’ll shut up.”
Which is a good thing, since I’m still not sure what to say.
The woman in the mirror—my reflection—the only thing she has in common with me is a startled expression. She looks… different. Sexy.
Not that I’ve felt like a complete hag the past year or so, but I haven’t felt this… unstoppable for a long while now.
I let my fingertips wander over the teal, slightly metallic panels that make up the dress.
How long have I had this thing stashed in the back of my closet… and I just put off wearing it, saving it for another night out, another date?
My reflection nods with determination at me.
Well. Looks like I’ve found my date.
“You’re right,” I say. “This is it.”
A glance at the time on my phone makes me swear. “Shit! I have less than ten minutes to pack my bag and get ready the rest of the way.”
“You’re welcome,” Josie sing-songs. “Have fun! Oh, and Sie?”
“Thanks,” I say. “Really.”
“Not that,” she says with a frown. “Just—you be careful, OK? I’m sure this guy is fine, just some rich maybe-jerk, but it never hurts to have your guard up.”
“Hello Josie, have you seen me around most guys?” I point out.
Josie chuckles ruefully. “OK, OK, so maybe I should be taking my own advice. Anyway—bye!”
“Bye!” I say.
And then I’m left with my phone in my hand and my heart in my throat.
You be careful, OK? OK? OK?
I shake off the thought. Right now, what I need to do is get ready in the already not-enough time that I have.
A quick coat of mascara, throwing everything by the door in my purse and I’m out and ready to go.
The elevator takes its sweet time in coming, but by the time I’m hurrying outside, a glance at my phone finds that it’s only 7:04. I smile.
Not bad.
Neither is the car that’s waiting at the curb for me. Although, let’s be honest: ‘not bad’ would be the understatement of the century.
Living in NYC, I’ve seen plenty of Porsches in person—but never one that I was stepping into.
“Too much?” he asks.
It’s then that I realize, that except for a shy smile, I’ve been completely silent and expressionless since I’ve gotten into his car.
Maybe I’ve just been distracted by the immediacy of his presence, how every part of him—from the relaxed set of his broad shoulders to the easy smile on his sculpted face—screams command. Or how, with his hair pulled back and hazel eyes crinkled in a genuine smile, he looks just as handsome as I remember—more, even.
“Not enough,” I joke. “I’m used to private jets, but I suppose this will have to do.”
As he pulls us back onto the road and gets driving, Nolan’s smile is sheepish. “Guess I deserved that. Much worse, probably.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just smile a little.
“I really am sorry about before,” Nolan says.
Just like that, all of the ease leaves his body. It’s replaced by something tense and hard, yet still sexy.
Ugh.
“If I said I was having the world’s worst day that night, that wouldn’t be overstating it, believe me.” He gives his head a small shake. “Anyway, that’s still not an excuse to be as rude as I was to you.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “As long as that’s the end of it.”
God. I feel like a teacher lecturing a naughty child. ‘As long as that’s the end of it’, really?!?
But to my surprise, he just grins, throwing his hand to his head in a salute. “Soldier’s honor.”