"Why on earth would he do that?" I ask. Tina doesn't know about his promise to look out for me.
"Uh, because healwaysdoes, and you usually wear jeans and no makeup. Tonight, you're a freaking knockout," Carl replies as she turns and holds up a hand mirror to show me her finished product.
Holy shit.
"Damn, you guys are fucking miracle workers," I murmur as I glare at a version of myself I don't even recognize. They both laugh, but I'm utterly mesmerized.
I'm not a vain person. But Carl is right, tonight I look a damn lot better than I normally do.
"You're a good canvas, Rory," she replies
"You should do this professionally," I say, and we all laugh.
Of course, she fully intends to. Carl has said a hundred times how she wants to own her own salon one day. I don't know how I seemed to miss this fact when she offered -demanded- to doll me up tonight, but the girl knows what she's doing, that's for sure. Tina, too.
"Alright, go change. We're all meeting downstairs in fifteen minutes! Hurry up," Tina shoos me out of the room.
I smile to myself when I see my reflection in the mirrored elevator doors.I really look something special tonight, I think as I enter my room. As long as I don't get triggered in some way, tonight is going to be a blast.
I can't let anything ruin tonight.
I decide to preemptively take a pill - just to make sure I don't freak out because some guy ends up in an elevator with me, or bumps into me in a bar, or some other normal occurrence that for me could be catastrophic.
I pull out the semi-short, flouncy pink skirt I bought with Carl, and pair it with a plain white tank and my motorcycle boots. I'm not exactly comfortable in a skirt, but I know that compared to all of the other girls in micro-mini skirts, halter tops, and skyscraper heels, I'm basically a nun. And I have pharmaceutical help to calm my nerves.
I grab my purse and head out the door just as Sam does the same. Okay, pill or not, now I'm nervous. He's never seen me even remotely dressed up, and I'm not sure if I'm more worried that he won't like it, or that he will.
He's ending a call when he sees me, and freezes with his phone mid-air. He blinks at me, but doesn't speak, only heightening my nerves. An awkward moment stretches interminably.
"Well, say somethin', will ya?" I murmur, southern Rory in full effect.I must learn to control my accent better.
Sam is wearing jeans and a fitted white tee shirt with a stylish navy blue blazer. He looks freaking edible. I can see the definition of his chest muscles through his clothing, and his perpetual just-rolled-out-of-bed hair is still damp from his shower. My knees start to feel a little weak and I swallow anxiously.
I force myself to mentally shake it off. I need to gather my wits if I'm going to go out on the town with my crush who's supposed to just be a close friend when he's looking like something to eat. More so even than usual.
"Uh..." He's still completely frozen.
"Sam," I admonish. His silence is freaking me out!
Sam finally unfreezes and runs his fingers through his hair. "Uh, yeah. Sorry, Ror... You look... nice." He averts his gaze.
"Yeah?" I'm not fishing for a compliment. I know Carl and Tina did an amazing job with my hair and makeup, but I'm not sure it'sme.And my outfit... I doubt I'll fit in with any of the other girls out tonight.
Sam takes the steps that separate his door from mine and returns his gaze to mine. "Yeah, Ror. Really, really,reallynice," he assures me, his voice low and unsure, as if my looking nice isn't necessarily a good thing. "Gonna get me in a fucking fight tonight," he mutters under his breath so low I can barely make it out as we start walking toward the elevator.
I guess his frozen reaction was concern over my attracting attention, and making it more work to keep up with his protective promise. But if he thinks I might attract attention, then he really does think I look good, and the thought makes me smile to myself.
For some reason it's awkward as we wait for the elevator, and I start to feel apprehensive about the whole evening. I don't know why it's taken me until now to remember that I don'twantto attract attention - that it's exactly what I've been dressing to avoid for the past year.
"I don't look like I'm, you know,askin' for it, do I?" I ask, suddenly worried I've made a huge mistake wearing a skirt. It's not too late to go change into jeans.
Sam's brow furrows in confusion. "Asking for what? What are you talking about?"
I'm hit with a wave of embarrassment, and I look down at my boots, stammering like an idiot. "I just don't want anyone to think, you know, that I'm lookin' for somethin'. Because I'm dressed like this... in a skirt. I... I-"
Sam lifts my chin to meet his midnight gaze. "Rory, no one is going to think anything about you because you're wearing a fucking skirt. They'd have no right to. I don't know where you'd get such an idea." He sighs. "You look beautiful. Really beautiful... just stick close by when we're out, okay? It'll be fun. Relax," he insists, and with his words, I do, I relax, clinging to the sound of Sam's voice calling mebeautiful,and the burst of emotion that feels an awful lot likehope.
The elevator arrives, we both step in and I press the button for the lobby.
