“Wake the fuck up, Pepper,” I sneer. “This is a summer fling and nothing more. Don’t fancy yourself falling in love with me, or you’ll be the one who gets hurt. Finish your food and get back to work.”
Goddamn, it never fails. I haven’t met a woman yet who hasn’t tried tofixme.
I haven’t seen Dom since Tuesday. Maybe I should count myself lucky. I’ve prayed to my heavenly father, asking for the fortitude to reject temptation, because I’m not able to denyhim. But it’s Dom who’s ignoring me. I upset him during our last conversation. It seems love and his ex-fiancée are forbidden topics. I went to his office every day at noon and found the door locked. I’m pathetic. He’s left me enthralled, captivated, and ready for another sojourn to the bowels of Satan’s dungeon. Had I been strong enough to revolt against my unholy compulsion, I would be blissfully ignorant to the pleasures of the flesh. How am I supposed to forget the fire he stoked within me? My work has suffered; it’s impossible to focus. I spent most of the time glancing around whenever I heard a door open or footsteps, hoping to catch a glimpse of my tormentor, the devil incarnate, but I never saw him. His daily walks past my cubicle stopped. My nights have been unbearable, consisting of sweaty limbs, tangled sheets, and passion-filled dreams. He texted me his cell phone number the day he reduced me to a puddle in my condo. I’ve typed out several messages only to delete them. I decided to take the high road, though I prefer not to. Mia said I should forget about him, and that’s putting it mildly. She used more colorful terms. I described to her the chocolate syrup and cucumber incidents in detail. She wasn’t outraged on my behalf but envious and vowed to spice up her sex life.
The workweek went downhill from there, concluding with another tortuous evening in Lester’s company on Friday. I can’t pretend anymore. There’s absolutely no way I’ll ever entertain a relationship with him. He took it to the next level by holding my hand like we were a happy couple. His touch was beyond uncomfortable and made my skin crawl. And the white foam forming at the corners of his thin lips made me queasy. The last straw was his attempt to give me a goodnight kiss, which I promptly evaded. I’m prepared for my father’s wrath. Continuing this farce is unfair to Lester and me, but I’m waiting on the right moment to tell him. It’s a delicate situation due to Dad’s and Lester’s friendship. I have to broach the subject very carefully.
The only bright side to my less than stellar week is Trish. She’ll be here at any moment to pick me up for the party. I’ve been pacing my living room for the last several minutes. I’m so nervous I could vomit. I took a trip to a popular clothing store earlier, and with Mia guiding me on video chat, purchased a figure-hugging spaghetti strap royal blue dress. It’s knee-length and shows a little cleavage. It’s modest compared to the other dresses I saw but still the most revealing outfit in my wardrobe. I treated myself to new shoes too, not the usual frumpy grandma type either. I elected to be daring and bought my first pair of pumps. Initially, I selected black, but Mia scolded me and accused me of being dull. She spoke the truth. Every single pair I own are either black, brown, or beige. I chose shiny, metallic silver high heels, and I’m glad I did. I finally replaced my stolen underwear too. After arriving home, I washed my unruly hair, then applied a generous amount of curling custard to tame it. The soft, bouncy curls dance around my face as I wear a hole in my carpet. My face is void of any makeup since I’m clueless on how to apply the stuff, but I did cover my lips in clear gloss. My cell phone rings, and I run to the table where I left it to answer the call.
“Hello.”
“Are you ready to party?” Trish shouts.
“Yep.” I laugh.
“Then come on out. Your carriage awaits you.”
“Coming,” I say excitedly.
Almost an hour later, Trish stops at the entrance of a gated community. A security guard sits inside a booth.
“Hello, can I help you ladies?” he asks.
“We were invited to a party.” Trish rattles off the address, and we hand over our driver’s licenses.
He peers at a list attached to a clipboard for confirmation.
“Okay, you’re both good to go.” He presses a button, and the electronic gate slides open, granting us entry.
“I’ve never seen him before, must be new. He’s a cutie.” She pops her candy apple red lips. “Maybe I’ll bring him a drink later.”
“I doubt if he’s allowed to consume alcohol while working.”
“One drink won’t hurt.”
Big houses, manicured lawns, and expensive looking cars in driveways greet us. It’s plain to see the residents who live here are well off. Not on the same financial plane as Dom, but they have to be earning at least six figures annually.
“Wow, this is a really nice neighborhood.”
“Did you think the party would be in the ghetto?” she asks, parallel parking.
“Of course not,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Chill, it’s no biggie.” She eyes me speculatively while tapping her index finger on her chin.
Trish is the epitome of fashion. Her gold sequin dress is so short her panties are visible. She styled her mass of red hair in a messy bun, and her makeup is expertly applied.
“What?”
“You look kind of drab, but I’ve got you covered.” She grabs her purse from the back seat. “It’s a good thing I packed my emergency makeup pouch.”
Trish works her magic with keen attentiveness.
“Done.” She grins, handing me a small rectangular mirror. “Take a look.”
I’m speechless. Trish did an amazing job. The dark smoky eyeshadow brings out the color of my eyes, and a touch of blush graces my symmetrical cheekbones. A thick coat of mascara extends my eyelashes, and my lips now match hers.
“Thank you so much.”
