Speaking of which, there’s a knock at my door. I find myself feeling…nervous. In an excited way. In a way that has me checking my reflection before I open the door to make sure my hair and make-up both still look as good as when they had been freshly done.
It’s strange, how everything has turned around between Leo and me so naturally, and so quickly. Our brief texting session was so hot, and yet it felt so right, so normal, like we’d never done anything but.
I might even have grabbed my vibrator after his last message and had at it, refusing to question my actions and just going with it.
It feltgood.
I find myself really hoping Leo likes my blue denim dress. I’m almost certain he will. It’s a bit steampunk-ish, using worn denim, a vintage crochet belt cinching the waist, and a frayed handkerchief hem. I made it myself by upcycling and personalising some charity shop finds the last time I went thrifting with Emily. The neckline is pretty, gently sweetheart-ish and just the right amount of tight.I’mpleased with it, at least, and I remind myself sternly that that’s still all that really counts.
I’ve started making a real effort for Leo, which I guess should clue me in on where I’m at with this whole thing. Normally, I’ve taken the attitude I’ve always had: that my buddy Leo can take me as he finds me, even if I’m in sweats and no make-up, but he’s not just my buddy now. And I want him to see me looking my best, every time. I want to justify his feelings for me, live up to them and the way he sees me, more than anything else.
When I open the door, he’s standing there looking carelessly terrific. Dark suit, open collar white shirt…Edible.He’s holding a round ball with coloured rings poking out of it in one hand, and a soft, pale mauve Sterling rose in the other, without a single thorn on its stem. I remember what he said about me being a rose with a shit ton of thorns, and wonder what he’s trying to say with this one. His hair is loose and looks freshly washed, still curling at the ends the way it usually does, and all without him needing to lift a finger to make it that way. He is delicious, and the way he looks me up and down, eyes glittering, makes me keenly aware that he wants the hell out of me. His gaze is so intense and expressive that I can almost feel the sensation of him licking my skin.
“Hey,” I protest to break the moment, gesturing down at my dress, “I kept to my side of the bargain. Why aren’t you wearing green?”
He grins, suddenly back to my old, familiar Leo, and bops me on the nose with the rose before handing it to me. He shows off his watch, and, yup, dark green leather strap. “And you haven’t seen my boxers…” The unspoken word,yet, hangs in the air.
Oh, boy. Now Iwantto see them. Now I can’t stop picturing them… “Fair enough,” I laugh, pretending to be nonchalant. “Come in. What’s that?” I point at the ball thing.
“It’s for Gary.” He pulls out one of the rings, and something resembling a miniature dummy comes out. “I found it at the pet store on Jubilee Street. It’s meant to be enriching for the little tosser. I’ve put some seeds in a few of the holes to make it extra fun for him.”
I don’t think he could have done any better in the gift department. Imagine having that amount of kindness and imagination… “Aww, he’ll love that! Come and give it to him, I’m sure he’ll thank you.” I grin. “In his own way.”
“How’s it going with him?” he asks as we head down the hallway to my kitchen and lounge combo.
“He’s brilliant. I just love him to pieces. Even the swearing.Especially -“
“Especially the swearing,” he says in unison with me, and we grin. He knows me too well, which actually feels comforting at the moment. This isLeo. He’s the best. He’s always been the best. Everything is going to be OK tonight, I know it. I place the rose in a glass of water while he opens Gary’s cage. “Hey, fella,” he murmurs, “Uncle Leo has a present for you.”
“Fuck you,” Gary says, but he says it almost pleasantly.
“I think that’s Gary-ese for ‘thank you very much’,” I joke.
“Well, in that case, you’re very fucking welcome, you feathered crapbag,” Leo says through the bars as he closes the cage. Gary gets straight to work pulling the dummies out, and lets out a delightfully startled, “What the fuck?!”, as he finds the treats in one of the holes.
We both crack up. Leo stops laughing before I do, and when I look at him, the way he’s staring at me brings the full weight of his feelings for me home. It’s as though the sight of me laughing is everything he ever wanted out of life. He’s not hiding anything anymore. Despite the comfort of the earlier moment when we were laughing, this is sobering. I mightwantto, but how on earth am Isupposedto live up to whatever he sees in me, to deserve that level of affection from someone as brilliant and kind and generous and…OK,hotas him? I’m generally a confident person, or I was, but this is a lot. I’m just…me. A lippy, stubborn hot mess with, apparently, the perceptiveness of a sleeping sloth. How did I get here, with someone like him?
Leo shakes his head at me, like he knows what I’m thinking, and cups my elbow. “Come on,” he says quietly, “I’ve got a posh restaurant waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry,we have a strict no jeans policy,” the waiter says, giving me a thoroughly disapproving once-over at the waiting point of Chagall. He looks all of eighteen, and his floppy hair looks to be higher maintenance than any skincare routine he might have, judging by the blackheads smothering his face.
I frown at him. “That’s nice. Why are you telling me that?” I feel Leo tense up next to me.
The lad blinks, clearly a bit startled that his snooty attitude hasn’t reduced me to stammering apologies. “I mean, your dress is - ”
“So you admit she’s wearing a dress, then, not a pair of jeans?” Leo cuts in, teaming up with me and giving him daggers.
Snooty McGee’s eyes harden. He knows he’s bested, but makes it clear he doesn’t have to like it. “Fine. Mills, reservation for two. This way.”
Leo looks like he wants to tear his head off, but I touch his arm and shake my head a little. I’ve got this.
We’re seated at a small square table up against the wall, a beautiful painting of red flowers hung perfectly straight between us.
“Would you like to order some drinks?” Snooty says. He sounds bored as holy hell, and I think that’s enough of his attitude right now.
“We would love to,” I agree, “but not from you. I’d like a different waiter.”
He blanches, having only just realised that he really has fucked up badly. “Pardon me?”
