I was going to pair this with my sky-high platform sandalswith the black patent across the balls of my feet, open toes to show off thenew fire-engine-red pedicure I’d given myself (along with the same in amanicure, but on my long talons, I’d added a curve of amber rhinestones allalong one side of the outer edge of each ring finger).The platform and heel ofthe shoes were covered in leopard.
My hair was even more sky-high than my platforms.Teased tomammoth proportions at the top and sides, I’d smoothed that back and thencurled the hell out of the rest of my tresses so they fell in soft, definedswirls from a high-rise at the crown all the way down my back (the bangs wereblown out straight and brushing my forehead).
My makeup was how I’d do it if I was stripping, which washow I’d do it when I wasn’t stripping.My eyes weren’t smoky.Theyweresmoke.My skin bronzed.The sides of my nose and under mycheekbones shaded.My cheeks a dewy tangerine.My lips a nude-y, super-glossed,glittering peach.
I had in bronze chandelier earrings that nearly swept myshoulders and were liberally dosed with black and amber beads.A bronzestatement necklace practically covered my upper chest and I had so many danglybracelets on, if Marcus got through the night without the noise of themtinkling driving him to murderme, he’d definitely pass an importanttest.
I thought I lookeddivine.I had a cute littlebody, fantastic bosoms, a whole lot of thick hair, and skin to die for, andeverything I’d done to augment it only made it that much better.
I also knew that not a lot of people agreed with me.
But Miss Annamae had told me to embrace my style when Ifound it (and boy had I found it) and not to let anyone cut me down.
Personally, I thought every woman should have at least oneleopard print item in her closet.I didn’t care if it was just a clutch and Ialso didn’t care if that woman usually wore oxford shirts and loafers.Shestill needed leopard.
If someone didn’t agree with me on that, or my platforms, mybig hair, and my heavy hand with eyeliner, they could go fuck themselves.
This was my thought as I leaned over the basin, whisking onone last coat of lip gloss and listening to ZZ Top when I heard, “Daisy.”
I jumped a mile, whirled, and cried, “Lord!”
I also saw Marcus lounging in the doorway to my bathroom.
“You scared the dickens out of me!”I snapped loudly,shoving the wand of the gloss back in the tube.
He sauntered in, reached out to my portable, and turned downthe music.
He then leaned a hip against my bathroom counter like it washisbathroom counter, crossed his arms on his chest and stated, “Iknocked.For five minutes.To ascertain if I needed to purchase a ticket toTimbuktu, I let myself in.Not easy for you to hear a knock over that music,honey.”
“It isn’t seven yet,” I retorted.
“It’s twelve past.”
I didn’t have a clock in the bathroom and I wasn’t wearing awatch, and further, there was no reason for him to lie.So I just did the onlyoption available to me.
I formed my mouth into a pout.
He grinned at me.
“If it’s twelve past and you knocked for five minutes,either you’re shit atpickin’ a lock or you’re late,”I noted.
His grin became a smile I felt in mycoochie.
God!
“Just something to know about me,” he began, “I’m not shitat picking a lock.”
“I’ll file that away,” I replied but didn’t stop speaking.“Just something to know in order to just know it, itain’tpolite to sneak up on a woman and itreallyain’tpolite to interrupt hergettin’ ready for your date.”
His eyes did a sweep of me.
I feltthatin my nipples (and mycoochie).
“You’re not ready?”
I was.
I just needed to put my shoes on.
