We stay like that for another moment, then he steps away from me, adjusting himself. I straighten my dress, glancing down to see his large, very obvious erection making itself known despite his jeans. The sight of it sends a throb of heat down between my legs, and I bite my lip.
Fuck it.
That’s when I decide I’m doing this. It might be crazy and reckless and the most questionable decision I’ve ever made. But I want him, and he wants me, and suddenly nothing else matters. YOLO, as the younger generation says.
“Friday,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows.
“Come over on Friday. At nine.”
Chapter
Six
It’sFriday at about 8:00 p.m., and I’m wearing the fifth, literally thefifth, outfit I’ve tried on tonight. What does one wear to a booty call? Hell if I know. I decide that this emerald-green sundress is it. No more waffling.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, studying myself. The dress hugs my curves nicely, and I turn to the side.Do I look sexy enough?My breasts are pretty large; I wear a double-D cup, but they aren’t nearly as perky as they were when I was a teenager. I run a hand down myself, appreciating the inward curve under my bust but wishing my belly were just a little flatter.
Julian obviously appreciates my body, though. I mean, here we are, right?
I turn all the way around and look over my shoulder to see myself from the back. Yeah, my ass looks pretty good, if I do say so myself. The dress flares out at the hips, and I slide a hand down over my backside, imagining him doing the same then picking me up so I can wrap my legs around him…
Whoa. Down, girl.
I’m getting all turned on just from the anticipation of what’s to come, but the butterflies are also running rampant inside me, edging my excitement with a hint of nausea.
I turn forward again, leaning far over the tiled countertop to see my face close-up. My skin is pretty clear, just a few freckles and moles, which are hard to avoid in a place where everyone, including me, worships the sun. There are a few fine lines around my eyes and mouth, but I don’t think I look old. I’ve never been big on makeup—it’s always seemed like way too much trouble. I press my lips together, making sure the shiny, tinted lip gloss still looks good.
I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, but maybe I should put on some mascara? I widen my eyes, easily my best feature—bright green and the thing virtually every guy who’s ever hit on me has chosen to focus on. My dark eyebrows are arched nicely, and all stragglers have been plucked. I brush my fingertip lightly across my lashes.
No mascara. Too messy.
I decide my face is good to go then shift my attention to my hair. I’m a natural brunette. For years I got it highlighted to be more blond, until I was about thirty-five and decided to embrace my natural color. Once I stopped dying it, I was delighted to discover the hidden curls and waves that came to life as it got healthier.
I already conditioned and scrunched it, letting it air-dry, and now it looks pretty good, hanging just to my shoulders in a cascade of messy curves. There are even a few ringlets, and I run my fingers gently over them.
Finally, I step back, taking in my entire reflection. I think I’m ready, but my God, am I jittery. I take a big breath, one of many since the reality of tonight started to sink in. I step out of my bathroom and head to the kitchen.
Julian gave me space for the few days after Gage’s party. Sending my son off to college was hard, but it helped that he seemed so excited. So grown-up.
Once Gage was safely up at UC Davis, the nerves set in for my meetup with Julian.
It’s been hard not being able to talk to anyone about it. It still feels crazy and insane and morally, well, questionable. But after that kiss? Well, now it feels like a runaway train. Unstoppable—like fate, maybe. Or perhaps I’m just rationalizing. Whatever it is, it’s too late now. For better or for worse, I’m already aboard.
I pour myself a glass of wine to soothe my nerves as I wait at the kitchen counter. Should I play some music? Light a candle? This is so surreal.
The numbers on the clock crawl by, and finally, at five till nine, I hear a soft knock at the door. My heart leaps to life, pounding in my chest like it wants out.
Julian looks amazing, of course. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a gray polo shirt, and his black hair is still wet from a shower. His eyes light up, and he flashes me that bright white smile as I open the door.
He’s holding out a small bouquet of red roses. “You look beautiful. That dress matches your eyes.” His gaze slides down my body, and he hands me the flowers.
“Thank you, you look good too,” I say stiffly, ushering him in.
He follows me to the kitchen, where I find a vase for the roses. He sits at the end of the island, watching me, as has become a habit when he’s over.
I join him on the barstool next to his, and we both turn to face one another. We sit like that, just studying each other, awkwardness palpable in the air. The rising tension reaches a breaking point as the hint of a smirk tugs at his lips. I let out a big breath and lean back, my eyes on the ceiling.
