–Me: I’m trying to save you. You know how you always bitch and whine about your brother Mark’s cooking?
–Dane: It’s not bitching and whining. It’s telling the truth.
–Me: Well, if you want to eat something as bad as Mark’s crap, then yeah, I can host the dinner at my place. But if you don’t want Sophia to become deathly ill, just host it at yours!
–Dane: Fine. You better make it entertaining. When?
–Me: Tomorrow.
–Dane: Some people have a busy social calendar.
I snort. Dane used to have a busy social calendar, seventy-five percent filled with bimbos with huge tits and endless legs, and the rest filled with insulting—or “telling the truth to”—people just because he felt like being a dick. But now that he’s married with a child, he’s a homebody.
–Me: No problem. I’ll ask Sophia for availability.
There. The sole weak point in Dane’s armor. He should crack like an egg now.
–Dane: Tomorrow at seven. Don’t be late.
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes. He’s being ridiculous, but he might actually not let us in if we show up late, because he can be that much of an asshole. Thank God Sophia is the light that drowns out his darkness. Or some BS of that nature Dane told me while drinking. I don’t know how he could say such a nauseating line. It’s like he’s l
iving a chick flick rather than real life. He wasn’t even drunk when he said it.
Now that the second step has been accomplished, I should be thinking about the third. I have to do it myself, since I can’t let Erin know what I’m up to.
–Me: One more thing. Can you hook me up at one of Mark’s restaurants? I need something tonight. For two, romantic and intimate.
–Dane: Get your assistant to make a reservation. That’s what she’s for.
–Me: Come on, man.
–Dane: Fine. Try Éternité at seven. Tell the maître d’ that I sent you. You owe me two now.
I fist-pump, grinning shamelessly. Dane is an asshole, but he can be a very generous and useful asshole.
–Me: Just lemme know.
There are a couple of tentative knocks on my door. “Come in.”
Nothing happens. “Come in,” I say more loudly, in case the person didn’t hear.
The door opens slowly. Then Erin walks in, her legs stiff. Actually, her entire body is stiff. But I barely notice that because of how she looks.
Damn.
I always thought Erin was pretty. Her smile in particular is gorgeous. But this… What she looks like now…
The way she shone so brilliantly at the charity auction was an aberration, or so I thought. She had makeup on, and she fussed a little with her appearance, so of course she looked good. But I was wrong. Her usually colorless and personality-lacking outfits were just muting her all this time.
She’s like a magnet that’s pulling at me. The wine-colored dress has a fitted bodice and a skirt that flares out around her thighs. A silver belt cinches around her waist, and her shoes are strappy sandals in the same shade as the outfit. She looks so much younger and more carefree, rather than the usual serious, somber corporate drone.
And something about her hair… It looks the same, but feels different. Just lighter and nicer.
The effect is stunning.
And her eyes. She didn’t do anything obvious that I can see—no eye shadow or anything—but they look bigger and more arresting.
My pulse is racing like an Olympic sprinter’s. I can’t come up with a single word to properly describe how amazing she looks. How much I love this new side of her.