Aware that my time is coming to an end, I smooth my hands over my hips, feeling more than aware of my missing underwear.
Brad was right, the dress is too fitted to be wearing anything underneath. Something I have no doubt he’s going to try to take advantage of. It’s just a shame that I’m not on the same page.
If this were a few months ago, I’d be buzzing with excitement for what a night with him might hold. He knows how to show a girl a good time with exclusive reservations and drinks in the best bars before a night in a flashy hotel somewhere or other.
But now, I think I’d rather stay hiding in my flat.
Okay, so maybe not. But I don’t really want to be spending the night out with Brad.
“You must be nearly done in there, surely?” Brad shouts, proving my previous thought right about how long I’ve been locked away in here.
Sucking in a deep breath, I check my make-up once more in the mirror and pull the door open.
A low whistle comes from him when he gets his first look at me. His pupils dilate as he runs his gaze over my curves appreciatively.
“I knew that would look knockout on you, baby.”
My cheeks heat under his scrutiny.
“You need shoes.”
“Brad,” I sigh, but I don’t bother saying any more as he rushes toward the kitchen counter where he abandoned the bag. The second he pulls out a shoe box, I panic. “You just put new shoes on the counter,” I screech, racing forward and snatching the box from him, despite it being too late.
“Uh…”
He looks between me and the box I’m now hugging.
“It’s bad luck,” I state, horrified by his actions.
“Umm… isn’t it a table?”
“What?” I snap.
“Putting shoes on a table is bad luck. Not a kitchen counter.”
“Semantics. I’ve had enough bad luck recently, I don’t need you adding any more.”
His brows lift in surprise. “What don’t I know, baby?” he says, the teasing lilt to his tone vanishing as he steps closer.
“N-nothing. It’s nothing. Just uni shit,” I confess, not willing to dive into the whole Knight’s Ridge-slash-Nico issue with him.
He wouldn’t understand. Hell, I’m not sure I even understand.
“It’s almost over,” he says encouragingly. “You need to tell me about your new school.”
I just about manage to swallow the groan that wants to rip up my throat at the prospect of having to spend any part of my night talking about Knight’s Ridge, but I know I’m on borrowed time. I managed to put it off the night he took me to the Italian restaurant, but something tells me that he might actually want details about my life tonight.
“Sure,” I say, finally lowering the shoe box in my hands to the sofa. “Oh wow,” I breathe, taking in the black strappy sandals. They would look right at home wrapped around a pole in Hades.
“Sexy, right? Put them on,” he encourages.
Unable to deny the lure of the gorgeous shoes, I undo the clasp as I sit down.
They fit perfectly, and Brad annoys me that much more because of it.
Why does he have to be so perfect on paper? He should be my perfect man.
Intelligent, successful, good in bed. Back in the day, we had killer chemistry, although that has mostly withered and died now. Or at least it has for me.