It’s not like he hasn’t spent months seeing me in pajama pants and even, a couple regrettable times, with my face covered in goopy face mask cream. So, really, this should be a massive improvement no matter what.
But tonight, I want to look beautiful. I want him to think I’m beautiful—even if I know he must already.
I feel the heat of those words again.On top of you. Inside you.
God, I love you so much.
“It’s good, right? I look good?” I know what they’re going to say. But they are my friends, and if there’s ever a pool you can fish for compliments in and never come up empty, it should be that one.
“You look incredible,” Miranda says, tugging at the dress so it’s showing more cleavage. I give her a mock-glare and tug it back up. I had plenty of cleavage showing already. I’m not trying to blind him with my nipples. Yet.
“Devastating,” Leigh chimes in. “And you’d better be the one ending up topless tonight.”
Heat flares through me imagining that, and all that would come after.
My gaze flicks over to my phone, seeing the time. “Okay, okay. He’s going to be here soon.”
“Which is our cue to leave,” Miranda says, and Leigh pouts a bit but nods.
“Fine,” she says, giving me her most adorable smile. “Go get your man.” She smacks me on the ass and heads to the door.
Miranda follows her, but gives me one last look. “Kickass mofo, right?”
“Right.” I smile at them, getting this sad little twist in my heart. “Thank you. You guys are the best.The. Best.”
“Yeah, well, you were the one who gave up your birthday movie marathon so we could go to a rock concert for some punk band you’d never heard. So . . .” Miranda gives me a wink, and I laugh.
“Worked out pretty well for all of us, I’d say.”
“Damn straight,” Leigh says. I know she’s gotten some serious mileage out of telling her “I boned Shane Beckstrom” story at parties. Probably she’s spent more time telling that story now than actually boning Shane Beckstrom. And Miranda is pretty happy with Jared—for the time being, at least. Right now she’s more concerned about her upcoming bar exam than her dating life, and I plan on providing her epic amounts of encouragement and fortitude-building snacks and maybe a few more lawyer sex-pun clothing items.
They leave, and I have to fight to keep from chewing my nails down to stubs while I wait for Kevin.
The house is strangely empty. My mom and dad had a dinner with friends already scheduled, and my sister is at her friend’s house, and while they know my “friend Kevin” is coming to visit, they have no idea yet what that might all entail—though I think my mom suspects.
I’m not ready to face them with all of this yet either.
Just Kevin. Right now, I only want to see Kevin.
I pace in my living room in my heels. I’m going on a date with Kevin. Is it going to be awkward after all this time of being friends? Of spending so many hours talking about everything and nothing, watching shows and movies, studying while he plays guitar?
But what we did last night . . .That wasn’t awkward. I mean, not after the initial “holy shit I just sent a picture of my vagina to my best friend” panic, which was quickly replaced by all the responses my body had to seeing the picture he sent me.Turns out that dick pics are a lot more appealing to receive when you’re totally in love with the insanely hot guy said dick is attached to.
Even that moment afterwards, before we both went to take our respective showers, didn’t feel awkward to me, but maybe that’s because my mind was reeling with what had just happened, and his words, and what I knew then that I needed to—
Headlights swing past the windows, and my heart pounds.
A few moments later my doorbell rings, and I take a breath, trying to steady myself, and open the door.
And there’s Kevin—here, not behind a screen states away, but here—and he’s holding this gorgeous bouquet of deep purple roses, and he’s got this nervous smile that drops open the tiniest bit when he takes me in, and I’m sure mine does the same, because wow. He looks incredible, dressed up in dark dress pants and a dark blue button-up shirt with just the slightest bit of shininess to it. But there’s still this laid-back rock star air to the outfit, too, from the slim fit of the pants to the black leather jacket.To the way he stands, the way he inhabits the space he’s in.
A rock star air, but not in the negative way I would have said before I met him. Not conceited, not entitled or playboy cocky.
Maybe it’s not a rock star thing at all; maybe it’s just a Kevin thing. Either way, I love it. I love him.
And he’s here.
“Hey,” he says, like he’s letting out a breath, the word coming out in a puff of cold air.
