“Alright, enough about my womb. I wanna see a fashion show.”
“Are you serious?” I whine.
“Hell yeah. God knows they won’t fit me in the next decade. Now strut. We have less than an hour to find something he’ll want to rip off with his teeth. But don’t let him do that. Seriously, these dresses were not cheap.”
For the next thirty minutes I humor my best friend, trying on dress after dress, walking, turning, bending over, all things she swears are pivotal to a perfect date night outfit.
“I really like the black,” she says. “It’s sultry and it saysI want you but I’m a classy bitch so you’re going to have to work for it.”
“Really? I was kind of leaning towards the green one myself,” I say in reference to a high-low emerald halter dress, even though it would show a lot of my back. But the waistline is thick, making me look less thick, and I don’t hate that at all.
“It is lovely, isn’t it?” she grins. “I got that one during a sale at the Southend Mall.”
I realize then that there is still a tag on it and I take a peek at the price. Then I almost choke.
“Holy shit, Jo. You paid that?”
“Hell no. I waited until it was on clearance. Are you kidding? My better half in there would barbeque me for the neighborhood block party if I paid that.”
“Well, I don’t feel like I should wear it if you haven’t had the chance yet,” I say, running my fingers over the glittery fabric. It’s truly stunning and would bring out the flecks of green in my eyes.
“Why the hell not? Like I said, I’m not going anywhere worthy of that dress anytime soon.”
“And you’re not going to return it?” I ask. “You could literally buy one of those self-soothing bassinets with what it’s worth.”
“You kidding? I could furnish half the damn nursery for what it’s worth. But for real, Libby. I think you should wear it. In fact…” She walks over and grabs the dress, then yanks the tag out. “It’s yours.”
My mouth drops but she just smiles.
“But you have to do me a favor,” she goes on. I look up at her, and she sits down next to me, putting her hand on mine. “Have fun on this date. Let him spoil you. Flirt with him. Do what comes naturally. But most of all, know your worth.”
I bite my lips and swallow hard. She knows what I am thinking. And she addresses it.
“He’s not your ex, Libby. There are good men out there. Trust me, I found one.”
On cue we hear her husband stomping through the house, his deep voice roaring, “FEE, FI, FO, FUM!” It makes all the kids shriek and their little feet scramble across the floor.
“You were lucky,” I say with a smile.
“You can be too,” she tells me, and we hug.
I pull up to my apartment and take a deep breath. Then I open the visor mirror and check my makeup. I’m wearing more than I usually do, but not too much. My heart feels like it’s on fast forward, racing and sporadic and yet, I’m excited. I don’t know why. It’s not like I haven’t been out with him before.
But maybe that is why. Our first date was…something else. Something that I knew (or so thought) was a one-time thing. So, I tucked it away and told myself to cherish it. To compare and contrast the differences between Dax and Shane. And to hold that bar for anyone to come.
But right now, I’m not thinking about anyone else. As I get out of my car and head for the stairs, I have only one person on my mind. And that person just pulled up to the curb in a sleek, black Mercedes.
And my breath catches in my throat.
I watch, blinking a few times, as Dax gets out of the car. He’s wearing dark blue slacks fitted enough to show off his quad muscles and let me tell you, they are glorious. He’s also sporting a white button down, the top three buttons open and the sleeves rolled up. His hair, which has definitely gotten a little longer, is sleeked back and the start of a very manicured beard is starting to come in. Dark blonde with flecks of silver.
In other words? He looksfine.
But the thing that stops my heart all together, the thing that has my lips screwing into a smile that I can’t help, is the way he is looking at me. Hands casually slipped into the pockets of his slacks. Jaw bones clenching and unclenching because he too is trying not to smile too big. Because it’s silly in a way that two people over the age of twenty-five who have known each other for months, been out on a date already, slept together already, and worked together against their will…could be this giddy simply to go to a restaurant by the ocean.
“You look…” he trails off searching for the word and in the process, the grin does in fact win the battle and spreads across his handsome face.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I say, twirling my dress in place a little because it just feels like the right thing to do.
