by Liv Morris
“Great.” His enthusiasm can’t be missed and we now have matching grins. Just too damn cute. “I’ll head up and start on the presentable part.”
“I’ll do the same.” At his questioning look, I explain, “The presentable part.” I laugh as I tug at my five sizes too big t-shirt.
“You’re fine and look comfortable.” He has to be kidding, but I don’t think he is.
“I’ll upgrade my comfortable though,” I say.
“Okay. See you in a few.” And he winks at me. Winks and smirks, then closes the door. I fall against it and slide down to the floor. I think my move is called a supported swoon.
But I can’t rest on my laurels for long, I have one hour to turn from sweatpants girl into a snappy, casual hottie.
I get up, still a bit shaky, possibly from adrenaline and hormones. Both seem to be on overdrive. Reaching for my phone on the entry table, I pick it up and touch the black screen. I need to see the time. I have to pace myself. But instead of the time, I see my call with Monica never ended… Holy shit, she heard the entire exchange I had with The Panty Dropper.
“Oh my God, Monica. I’m so…” She doesn’t let me continue.
“Don’t say another word, Em. I’ll be right up.” And the call goes dead.
Ready, Set, Go
While I’m waiting for Monica to arrive, my vocabulary has consisted of three words. Oh. My. God. Spoken repeatedly as I walk around in circles by the door and occasionally glance at myself in the mirror. Which doesn’t help at all.
Finally, she knocks and I swing the door open to see her arms loaded down with clothes, shoes and a couple of makeup bags. She walks right past me, not even stopping to say hello.
“Em, follow me,” she says over her shoulder. I’m stunned but shut the door and follow.
“Yes, mistress.” I giggle.
“Oh, you have no idea. You will do everything I say, capiche?” she laughs but I can sense she’s not to be trifled with right now.
“Can you believe it?” I ask as we enter my bedroom. “He invited me up to his apartment.”
“He invited you,” she stops and assesses my attire, “looking like that?”
“Do I look that bad?”
“Yes, but all the more reason to think he really likes you for you.” She speaks while placing everything in her arms on my bed. The spread takes over the entire thing.
After she’s finished and her arms are empty, she turns to me and points to my master bath. “Into the shower. Exfoliate and shave… everything.”
“Everything?” I think I know what she means, but, really, I’ve never had sex on a first date. No matter how much I’ve had to drink. Surely, she doesn’t think I might drop my panties for him in spite of his nickname.
“You heard me. Use the razor everywhere!” She’s looking at me and seems annoyed.
I back into the bathroom, afraid to say anymore. She returns to the bed and searches through the items on it.
“I don’t think this will work.” I watch her toss a couple pairs of jeans onto the floor as she talks to herself. “These skinny jeans are perfect, though.”
She moves to the other side of the bed and sees me standing by the bath’s door. Her disapproving glare makes me scurry toward the shower.
“I’m going,” I yell, grabbing a towel and new razor.
~~~~~
Freshly showered and shaved, I’m standing beside Monica in my bathrobe. She displays the outfit that I’m wearing tonight. There isn’t room to question her. The thought of even doing so scares me, to be honest.
She’s chosen a pair of dark jeans with a little subtle acid wash over the front. I pull them off the bed and see that they’ve never been worn.
“Monica, I can’t wear these. The tag is still attached.” I hand them back to her and watch her gently pull the tag from the jeans.
“There. Put them on. I want to see how they fit.”
I obey and drop the robe to the floor and jump as she lets out a gasp.
“What the hell are you wearing? A tank and black cotton briefs?” She holds up some sexy panties. “I found these in the back of your drawer.”
“I can’t and won’t wear them, because he’s not going to see them. I’ve never slept with anyone on my first date.” I look her dead in the eyes. “Never.”
“Is this a hard and fast rule of yours?” she asks. “Because I overheard your exchange together. Remember? I could feel the chemistry between you through the line.”
I giggle and tilt my head. “I know. There definitely was something…”
“Well, your old yoga pants didn’t scare him away so keep what you have on, but don’t forget to bring a condom just in case.”
She thrusts the jeans at me again and I take them for good this time. I squeeze myself into the legs and with a few little jumps the jeans make it over my hips. I hope they give a little after wearing them. They seem too tight, but after sucking in my stomach I get them buttoned.
“Tell me they stretch,” I say. “Because I can only hold my stomach in so long.”
“Quit whining. You look great.” She takes me by the arm. “Now, hair and makeup before the shirt goes on.”
I’m being lead into the bathroom. “Sit on the toilet, lid down.” I start to laugh and she joins me.
“Thanks so much for helping me tonight. I feel bad that I’m ditching you.” I place my hand on her forearm. “You’re a great friend. You know that, right?”
“Same to you, Em. We’ve been through a lot together these last couple of years.” She stops for a second and smiles. “Here’s how you can make up for tonight. Have something naughty to tell me tomorrow.”
She just doesn’t give up. We laugh and she gets busy with the blow dryer, tugging my head in every which direction. It’ll be a miracle if there’s any hair left when she’s finished.
After finishing my makeover, she finally allows me to look into the mirror. It’s amazing. She’s made my frizzy hair look shiny and bouncy. Those two words have never been used to describe my hair.
“Wow. How did you get my hair to do this?”
“It’s the serum I used. My stylist swears by it and I have to agree. I’ve never seen your hair so tamed.” She smiles big, proud of her creation: me.
“I’m going to buy a vat of this stuff,” I remark while touching my hair. “And my eyes look smoky but not porno. Perfect.”
“You look great if I do say so myself. But we aren’t through. Next is the top and shoes.”
“Okay, Personal Shopper. Finish me.”
We walk back to the bed and I see the shirt set out for the evening. It’s a black chiffon blouse with sleeves gathered at the wrist. The hem is longer in the back giving it a flowing look. It’s feminine and not over-the-top sexy or dressy. “I love this top,” I murmur as she helps me get the blouse on so my hair stays in place.
“Now the shoes.” She has a pair of red pumps dangling from her fingers. I know these shoes, but I’ve not seen them in ages. They’re her “one-night stand” pumps.
“Not happening. I know what you’re up to.” I back a few feet away. “I can hear my panties dropping on the ground just by looking at those evil things.”
“What are you talking about? It’s Valentine’s Day. Red works.” She’s approaching me with the shoes and I curse the fact that we wear the same size.
“True, but those shoes are dangerous. Every time you’ve worn them out they end up on the floor of an unknown man’s apartment.”
I hear her muttering but can’t make out what she’s saying. She kneels to the ground and has me lift my leg. I acquiesce and put the shoes on. Damn if they don’t fit great.
“Alright, I’ll wear them, but I’m breaking their bad reputation tonight,” I state.
“Whatever.” She hands me a tube of lipstick. “Wear this one tonight. It’s the perfect red for you.”
“I don’t wear red.”
“How many Panty Droppers have asked you out in your life?” I look at he
r defeated. “Exactly, so pucker up and go with it.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this bossy before.” I’m standing in front of the mirror over my dresser applying the lipstick. She’s right, the color looks great.
“I’m your biggest cheerleader tonight and don’t mean to come across bossy. But an opportunity like this doesn’t come knocking at your door every day.” We both catch the irony and burst out laughing.
“So true.” I stand up and face her, placing my hands out to the side. “What do you think?”
“You look great,” she approves. “There’s something about you tonight. I bet he can’t keep his hands off you.”
“It’s strange. I feel different too.” I’m nervous in an excited way, not the usual I wonder if he likes me mood. It’s pretty clear he does. The connection was there earlier.
“One more thing.” Monica reaches into her bag of tricks and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. “Show me to your shot glasses.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I warn.
“Just one. It’ll loosen you up. Besides you never get sick when you mix alcohol. You old rock gut.”
I place two shot glasses on the counter and watch the amber liquid pour from the bottle. We pick them up and tap them against each other.
“Here’s to Valentine’s Day. Who knows? It may become the best day of your life.”
“Yeah, who knows? Cheers.” I place the glass to my lips and slam the whiskey back. “Wow. I forgot how wicked that stuff is. I’ll need a breath mint for sure now.”
Monica digs around in her purse and hands me some mints. “We can’t have you reeking of booze.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. I need to spray on some perfume.” Before the whole word perfume is out of my mouth, I see Monica holding her cherished Chanel No. 5. “Jeez, you’re quick.”
She has me hold out my arms like she’s spraying me with bug repellent. I’m afraid that she’s overdoing it, but her movements are quick and few. It’s like I’ve been spritzed not doused, so hopefully, I won’t overwhelm him.
Him. Ethan, The Panty Dropper. I can’t believe my luck.
Glancing at the clock on the microwave I see that I need to leave now or I’ll be late.
“Well, this is it,” I tell Monica bending down to grab my tote. “Wish me luck.”
“I hope you both get lucky.” Monica can’t quit the push for us to have sex and I give her the stink eye. “Hey, I’m living vicariously through you tonight.”
“I know.” After giving her a hug, I head to the door. “Thanks for everything. I mean it. And if I’m never heard from again, his name is Ethan Murphy, apartment 814.”
“Got it,” she says with a smile. “I’ll stay and clean off your bed, though I hope you don’t sleep in it tonight.”
Funny, but something inside of me just might be fine with that too.
Dinner is served
I take the elevator up to his floor. It’s just two flights via the stairs, but I can’t risk twisting my ankle in these heels. As the elevator carries me up, I get almost giddy. The door opens and I walk out into the hall taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down.
There are fewer apartments on his floor than on mine. Since it’s the top of the building, I’m imagining they’re more spacious, penthouse style. The thought makes me wonder what he does to afford such a place. He seems fairly young, around thirty or so.
Well, I’m going to find out a lot about him. I raise my hand and form a fist.
Here it goes.
My knuckles tap on the door. Hopefully, the knock was loud enough for him to hear.
Literally, two seconds pass and the door swings open. He’s in dark jeans with a black fitted shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. But the killer for me is that he has on a burgundy apron. Nothing says sexy like a man cooking me dinner while donning an apron.
I sense trouble and think I just heard a nail in the coffin of “I don’t sleep with someone on the first date” get pounded into the wood. He’s smiling and I smile back.
“Hey. Come on in.” He shuffles to the side to make room for my entrance while his eyes move over me. Stopping at the shoes. “Wow, you look great.”
Monica was right. Damn her and these wicked pumps.
“Thanks. So do you. I love the apron.” I lightly brush my fingers across the part of the apron covering his chest as I pass by. He stiffens like the last time when I touched his finger. Seems like he’s sensitive to my touch. In a good way too. I pause after walking past him, waiting for him to lead me into his apartment.
Something about his smile has taken away the butterflies in my stomach. I’ve never felt this at ease on a first date. Amazing since he’s The Panty Dropper. I think it’s the fact that I feel welcome here. Being invited into his home is different than meeting at a busy, noisy restaurant or club. There isn’t anything formal about tonight at all. Just two people having dinner, getting to know one another. How well is to be determined.
“Dinner is close to being finished,” he says turning toward me after shutting the door. “I have to confess that I’ve never cooked for anyone before.”
“Really?” I respond. “Should I be scared?”
“Probably, but if the sauce stinks then we can blame Ragu.” He laughs and I really like the sound when he does.
“Ragu has never let me down,” I confess.
As he comes to stand next to me, I feel his hand on the small of my back and it’s my turn to stiffen at a touch. He gently pushes against me as he walks out of the entry area. I purposely follow him slowly, this way his hand stays pressed against me. It feels heavenly. I believe I’m in all kinds of sweet trouble tonight.
We arrive in his open kitchen and living room area. The space is big and bright. There’s crown molding, high-end granite and shiny, stainless steel appliances. His place looks nothing like my rental just two floors below. Everything seems customized. I look at him confused.
“Your place is unreal. I don’t feel like I’m in my own building. How did you talk them into letting you do all of this?” I wave my hand across the whole room because everywhere I turn there’s something that seems out of the ordinary.
“Well, actually I own this apartment,” he answers me sheepishly.
“I didn’t realize that you could own an apartment here. I figured they were all rentals. How did you pull that off?”
“When I said I own this apartment, I really should say I own the building too.” Now he’s appearing even more embarrassed.
“So you’re my landlord then?” I say teasingly.
“I’m afraid so. And a very rude one too. I haven’t gotten you a drink yet. How does some red wine sound?” Oh he’s good, real good.
“You don’t want to talk about being the EM Properties, LLC, that I write my rental check to, do you?” I want to know more about him now, as I’m totally intrigued.
“Have a seat at the bar. I’ll get you some wine and explain.”
“It’s just unexpected.” I follow orders and take a seat on the bar stool, hoping the jeans have stretched a little to make bending at the middle easier. And they have, thank God.
He sits a half-full wine glass in front of me. “You’re the only person in this building that knows my secret. Are you good at keeping them?”
“I’ve been told I’m like a vault, so I think you’re safe.”
“A vault? Meaning impenetrable?” I snort and he blushes. God, he’s getting more and more irresistible.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” I wink for fun. Turnaround is fair play after all. He smiles back so I know we’re good. “Does the onsite management know?”
“No one knows. Including the doorman and super.” He’s shaking his head. “With living here I prefer it that way. And as long as they receive their paychecks and are treated fairly, they seem okay. I have a manager contracted to be my go-between.”
“I’m actually amazed. I would’ve never guessed.”
“The whole o
wnership thing happened because of my job. I work for a real estate investment trust. I travel around the country looking for distressed properties to add to our portfolio.” He’s smart, successful and gorgeous. Add a genuine sweetness to the mix and I feel like the luckiest dinner guest of all time.
“I’ve never heard of a real estate trust.” I’m way out of my league here. I’ll need to concentrate to follow along.
“I won’t bore you with the details. But the partners at my company didn’t want to invest in this building, so I asked if I could buy it personally. They not only agreed, but helped me find financing.”
“You’re really young to be this successful. I bet your parents are proud of you.”
“I think so. Funny how that means more as I get older. Nothing like having my father say, ‘Well done, son.”
His sweetness might just be irresistible. I glance down at Monica’s red pumps and smile.
“My parents feel the same way. They’ve always supported my career decisions and helped me along the way. But it feels good to be totally supporting myself now.”
“Yes, it does. So I told you what I do; now it’s your turn.” I watch him move to the stove and check on something in the oven. I sip more of my wine before I answer him.
“I fly for my job. Literally. I’m a flight attendant.” I can tell I have his full attention now. He’s lowered the knife he was using to cut up the vegetables back down onto the cutting board.
“Really? So you understand the travelling thing pretty well too.”
“Totally. I’m gone around twenty-one days a month. Most airlines use fifteen days as a base, but I tend to pick up a few extra days here and there. Maybe someone’s child is sick or has something going on at school. It’s easy to find extra days.”
“Time wise, that sounds a lot like me. I’m on the road every weekday. Occasionally, there will be a property here in the Bay Area, though I can’t remember the last time that happened. Maybe when I did the due diligence for this building.”
“So you’re all over the country?”
“Pretty much. One week I might be in New York, then the next week it’s Saint Louis.”