With a series of tugs she got her dress more or less back to the way it was before she pulled the lasagna out of the oven.
“I’m going to...” He gestured toward the bathroom.
“Okay.” She glanced around on the floor.
“I think they wound up under the couch,” he suggested over his shoulder.
She found her undies and she headed down the hall in the opposite direction, toward another bathroom, tugging her dress down as she went. She caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror: her mouth was kiss-swollen and her face was pink and her hair was every which way and there were faint mascara shadows under her eyes. She looked surprisingly luscious and ravished and disreputable. Even in San Francisco, she might have crossed the street if she’d seen herself walking toward her in the wee hours of the morning.
Either that, or high-five herself. Because there really was no question about what she’d just been up to.
“I’d even do me, the way I look now,” she said to the mirror.
Her expression regarded her, stunned. How in God’s name had she gotten so carried away? One moment she was sitting there all demure, and the next she’d gone full cowgirl.
Possibly it was a couple of decades overdue, and that was all. With this guy.
It was also possible all the stuff with Corbin had derailed her more than she realized. That maybe she ought to explore that avenue for an explanation.
Except that deep in the heart of her she wasn’t convinced that was true.
She’d better leave this bathroom before Mac decided she was going to disappear again on him for another decade or so.
