Sleeping with Beauty

by Donna Kauffman

  “Great!” She held Lucy by the shoulders and squeezed a bit too hard. “This is really great!” Her eyes were huge and a bit glassy.

  Lucy looked at her friend with wary curiosity. Jana seemed awfully excited about all this. “Whatever it takes to make you happy.”

  “Knowing you guys will patch things up is the best thing you could do for me right now.”

  Lucy chalked up Jana’s animated reaction to hormonal surges and climbed off the bed. “So help me figure out what to wear tonight. I’ve got—” She looked at her watch and panic set in. “Less than forty-five minutes to look fabulous. Ack!”

  Jana sat up and rustled through the pile, pulling out a slim black skirt with an almost indecent slit up the back, and a soft blue cashmere sweater with a demure neckline. “Here.”

  Lucy took them. “I would have never put these together.”

  Jana smiled smugly. “I may still play for the dork squad, but I’ve been married long enough to know that that combination purrs ‘Come and get me’ while screaming ‘But be a nice guy about it.’ ” She cocked her head. “Is that about right?”

  Lucy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I hope so. Since when do you know all about slit skirts, anyway? You don’t even own a dress.”

  “Every man has his own version of the little-black-dress hots. For Dave, it’s my black bike shorts with a cutoff Gretzky jersey.”

  “Another combo I’d have never put together.”

  “Well, there you have it. A match made in heaven. As to this little dream outfit, well, I also work with enough men to know what toots their horn.”

  Lucy shuddered. “I’ve met some of the men you work with.” She cast a dubious look at the sweater and skirt. “Now I’m nervous.”

  Jana laughed. “Trust me.”

  “What makes you think Jason will go for this?”

  “He went for that handkerchief masquerading as a dress the other night, didn’t he?”

  Lucy felt her cheeks heat up. “It’s possible he was attracted by other things.”

  “If I recall, he didn’t get to know any other things. Unless of course you meant your taped-up cleavage. Speaking of which, what are you going to do about that little notion tonight? Because the last time I taped anything, Dave permanently lost all the hair on his legs from the shins down.”

  Lucy drew the clothes across the front of her chest. “Ow. Don’t worry, your taping expertise, or lack thereof, will not be needed tonight.” Lucy plucked a padded bra from her bed. “I have the NASA bra.”

  “NASA is making bras now?”

  “That’s Vivian’s nickname for it. Put it on and your boobs will defy gravity.”

  Jana snickered.

  “Funny for you. You don’t have to wear it.”

  “Neither do you, you know.”

  “Precisely why I didn’t come to you for fashion advice in the first place. You’d have never suggested that I wear something that pushed me outside my personal comfort zone.”

  Jana laughed. “Well, if you mean wearing something that pushed your boobs into orbit, then you’re right.” She leaned forward and reached out a hand. “Toss me that thing.”

  “Oh no,” Lucy said, holding it clear. “Make fun of my lingerie, then expect to steal it for some perverted sex hockey with Dave? I don’t think so.”

  “We don’t have ‘perverted sex hockey.’ ”

  Lucy just arched a brow in her direction.

  “We have perfectly normal sex hockey.”

  Lucy just leveled her a look. “At least you’re having sex.”

  Jana scowled and dug back into her ice cream. “As it turns out, regular sex can be highly overrated.” She waved a loaded spoon when Lucy went to apologize. “No, don’t. Ignore me. What’s that?” she asked around a mouthful of ice cream, and pointed to a pile of shimmery silk hanging over Lucy’s closet doorknob.

  Lucy scooped up the garter belt and matching stockings and dangled them from one hand.

  Jana wolf-whistled.

  “Too much, right?” Lucy looked at the black heels she’d already decided to wear. When she paired them with the lingerie and stockings, not to mention that little slit in the back of the black skirt . . . well, it did seem a bit too much. “Maybe panty hose instead?”

  Jana rolled her eyes. “Chicken. What happened to Ms. I Want Out of My Comfort Zone? What could be more uncomfortable than strapping yourself up in a garter belt for a guy who might or might not ever see it?”

  “The idea is if you feel sexy, you project sexy,” Lucy said. She ran the stockings across the skirt and sweater. “I’m not sure I want to feel that sexy. Besides, panty hose might be part of the ‘I’m a good girl’ signal I want to send.”

  “Fine. Except if you do eventually want to take them off. Because we all know taking off panty hose is such a surefire way to look sexy. Especially when it’s your first time together. Another good reason to give up wearing dresses.”

  Lucy gulped. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this. It’s my first date with the guy, and you and Vivian both have me romping in the hay with him already.”

  Jana just laughed. “Right. With Jason Prescott. Like you haven’t pictured that very thing, like, a thousand times. Ten thousand times.”

  Lucy couldn’t pull off that lie, so she didn’t even try. “Fantasizing isn’t the same as doing. Maybe if I make it through this date without tripping over my feet, spilling something in my lap—or worse, his lap—and he asks me out again, then I’ll begin to think about whether I’ll let him take things to the next level.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, you sound like a reality dating-show contestant. ‘I feel such a connection. We’re on this journey together. I can’t wait to take it to the next level,’ ” she said, mimicking the words in a breathy exaggerated voice. “If you want to jump the guy, jump him.”

  “Says the woman who no longer worries about safe sex.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I should have.” She raised a hand. “Kidding, kidding.” She sighed, looked at Lucy. “You want Jason Prescott. So take him. But tell me, do you really like the guy? I mean, apart from what he represents to you?”

  “Sure.”

  Jana just cocked her head.

  “Okay, so maybe we didn’t get much of a chance to talk. I don’t know him all that well. But he still has that same charm and sizzle he always did. Only now it’s all grown-up and even more potent.”

  “So you’re thinking long-term-relationship possibility here?”

  “I’m not thinking anything beyond getting through this date.”

  “Okay. That’s fair.”

  Lucy wondered if Jana’s ambivalence about her dating Jason Prescott had more to do with her feelings about Grady not liking it than whatever she might personally feel about the situation. But Lucy didn’t have time to delve into that right now. Convenient excuse, that.

  Jana slid off the bed and shoved her feet back into her suede walking boots. “Just be prepared for anything. That’s my motto.”

  “Vivian’s, too.” She didn’t tell Jana she’d already moved all the contents of her reunion-night clutch to her regular purse.

  “I’m liking this Vivian more all the time,” Jana called out, as Lucy went off to get dressed.

  “You would,” Lucy said. Then pulled out her war paint and began preparing herself for battle.

  She just wished she knew exactly what it was she was fighting for.

  Chapter 22

  Chirra was a spectacular location for Lucy’s dream date. So elegant. One look around at the sumptuous Mediterranean design, the pricey art, the serious menu, and she realized that there must be a lot of money to be made in getting athletes acquitted of assault and DUI charges.

  “Wine or champagne?” Jason queried.

  She was still absorbing her surroundings, not to mention her company for the evening, and didn’t respond right away. My, how The World According to Lucy Harper has changed, eh? She studied her artsy menu, which wa
s a single page mounted on an abstract-shaped piece of slate. Handy as a menu or a weapon, she thought. It was hand-drawn, complete with a small watercolor pattern bordering the edge. Every aspect of the restaurant, down to the tiniest detail, had been handled with care. So elegant, so perfect, it made Lucy a bit nervous.

  “Wine would be fine,” she finally said, proud that she’d managed to utter all of four words without dropping, spilling, or mispronouncing anything. She’d even rhymed. Emboldened by her success, she chanced a glance up and offered a smile, hoping for sophisticated and worldly, but satisfied with nice and nominally intelligent. “Why don’t you select?”

  He beamed. Another male, happy to be in charge.

  Lucy was fine with that. Let him handle the ordering. She was still busy trying to figure out what she hoped to get out of this date. Part of her felt that this evening was nothing more than self-esteem payback after Jason’s rude dismissal of her so many years ago. But . . . sitting across from him now, in his gorgeously tailored suit, she was forced to admit she didn’t feel so far removed from that starry-eyed high school senior she’d been ten years ago, the one with a hopeless crush on the most popular boy in school. He was beautiful then and he was beautiful now.

  Vivian’s words about her being the beholder floated through her mind. It wasn’t just about what he sees. So, she wondered, is this what it feels like to recognize passion?

  Upon her arrival at the restaurant, Lucy discovered that Jason was waiting just inside the restaurant door, watching for her. She saw him first, tall and handsome and hers, and had paused for a moment to really absorb that fact. But even when he turned and saw her, began making his way toward her with unmistakable interest gleaming in his eyes, she still felt like the dorky wallflower playing dress-up in her glamorous older sister’s clothes.

  If Lucy just pretended to be the hot, sophisticated chick long enough, maybe she’d actually become the hot, sophisticated chick. If it walked like a duck, and looked like a duck . . .

  “Duck?” Jason said, startling her.

  Dear God, had she spoken out loud? “I beg your pardon?”

  “The foie gras? Would that work as an appetizer for you? You’re not a vegetarian or anything, are you?”

  “No, no,” she quickly assured him. An easy question, she could answer this one without thinking. “I’m a big meat eater. Nothing better than a big piece of meat, I always say.” Oh, God! This time she had spoken out loud. She quickly buried her flaming face in her menu.

  “Me, too,” he said, chuckling.

  She wanted to crawl under the table, but she forced herself to peek over her menu and attempt a good-natured smile, only to be caught once again by his brilliant smile and golden-boy tan. He really was beautiful.

  “You look nice,” he said, as she ducked back behind the safety of her menu before she started to drool.

  With a rather limited but refined set of choices, Lucy feared that she appeared to be either extremely picky or indecisive. She finally set the menu slab aside. He’d been so tickled to have his judgment deferred to about the wine, he’d be downright ecstatic when she told him he could order the whole damn meal. “Thank you,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze head-on. Don’t picture him naked. Or say anything about meat. Any kind of meat.

  “You look so different from the dance, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  She froze in mid-casual-smile. “I do?” She knew the sweater was too casual for this place. She was going to kill Jana. She should have gone with the red silk. Jason Prescott was a lady-in-red kind of man. Dammit, she’d known that. So what if she was a woman-in-wool kind of girl? This wasn’t about her being comfortable. This was about—

  That stopped her. She still wasn’t quite sure what this was about.

  Proving to herself that she could make Jason want her as revenge for prom night? Yes, Jason had been a jerk to her that night, but that was ten years ago. Right now he seemed more like a great-looking guy who was treating her to a lovely dinner and apparently interested in getting to know her. Wouldn’t it be okay if she felt the same way? After all, they were both single, available adults.

  Maybe this wasn’t about the past at all, but about what the future might hold now . . . years later. Let bygones be bygones, and all that. Could it really be that simple? And if so, why in the hell was she wearing this stupid garter belt?

  Because it wasn’t regular Lucy Harper who’d gotten his attention in the first place. It was Vixen Lucy. Cyborg Lucy. Fake Lucy.

  “Is that a bad thing?” she blurted out. “Looking different?”

  “No, no, not at all,” he assured her with that smooth, easy charm of his. “I love cashmere.” His gaze drifted down to her sweater. “Very tactile.”

  She was trying to decide if that was some kind of come-on, when his gaze moved back to her face and he said, “I know a guy on Seventh Avenue who does wonders with cashmere. I had him make a winter coat for me last year. Dynamite. Very versatile. Goes with everything.”

  My God, he actually meant he loved cashmere. Personally. Jason Prescott. Metrosexual? “‘Seventh’? Is that northeast or west?”

  He frowned for a moment, then laughed. “Not in D.C. New York City. Sorry, I should have clarified. If you want, I’ll give you his card. You should really check him out next time you go up.” He flashed her another dazzling smile of encouragement. “He could do amazing things with you.”

  She basked in the glow just for a moment because, after all, she was human. And female. No matter how much of her was fake, the original wiring was still all hers. She wondered how to break it to Jason that she didn’t just “go up” to NYC on any kind of regular basis. Like ever. She settled for, “I don’t get up to the city all that often.” Since her seventh-grade field trip, to be exact.

  “Oh.” He seemed a bit startled by the idea. “Well, there’s a place in Georgetown. He’s appointment only. But I’d be glad to put in a word.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly, all handsome abashed perfection. “Of course, I shouldn’t assume. For all I know, you could give me a better recommendation. Do you use a tailor? I guess women call them ‘tailors,’ right? ‘Seamstress’ seems a bit dated.”

  Lucy managed a grin that could only be considered weak in comparison to his beaming smile. She didn’t even use a Macy’s personal shopper. She spent a few more seconds trying to decide how long she could maintain any kind of real pretense, then gave it up. If this wasn’t about revenge, but about truly getting to know the adult version of a guy she’d had a major crush on in high school, then the only thing to do was to be true to herself and see where that took her.

  “Actually, I’m a department-store girl myself,” she said. No point in dragging out the inevitable. At least she’d get a good meal out of it. She hoped foie gras tasted better than it sounded. “Seamstresses and tailors are a bit outside my budget, I’m afraid.”

  Jason’s bright smile dimmed slightly. “I’m sorry. I’ve presumed too much. And here I’ve been going on and on like some stuck-up snob. It’s just that dress, and the jewelry, the night of the reunion . . .”

  “Borrowed.” She waited to see if he was still the same old Jason Prescott from high school. The one that would ask if she wouldn’t mind giving him the number of the hot chick who really owned all that stuff.

  Instead he lifted one broad shoulder and ducked his chin quite endearingly. “I jumped to conclusions I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

  And the fantasy momentarily gasped back to life, struggling to stay alive.

  The waiter stopped by their table then, and after reciting an exhaustive list of specials that weren’t on the menu, in a tone that made it clear they couldn’t even begin to understand the enormity of their chef’s ability, Jason made quick, decisive selections, then smiled easily as the waiter hurried off to do his bidding. It was good to be the Boy King.

  When he returned his attention to her, he did it with such focus, she felt like the only woman in the room. On the planet. In the un
iverse.

  Okay, so maybe she still needed to get a grip on things. Which was it going to be? Fantasy? Or reality? Could they really be one and the same?

  “So, since you’re not an international supermodel after all, what is it you do, Lucy?”

  He was teasing, but she so wished she could say something more interesting right now than “third-grade teacher.” I empower the youth of tomorrow, however, was too pompous, even for Lucy 2.0.

  Reality it was. “I’m a schoolteacher,” she said, then offered a wistful smile. “Third grade.” No need to be ashamed of what she did or how much it didn’t pay. And she wasn’t. It just sounded so . . . repressed. And goody-goody. She didn’t want to be a goody-goody. Not with Jason.

  “Wow, really? Well, I wish I’d had an elementary-school teacher who looked like you. I might have actually paid attention in class.”

  She flushed at the compliment, feeling decidedly less goody than she had a moment ago. “I’m sure you were an ace student. The teachers probably adored you.” She caught herself. Too gushy?

  His face warmed a bit, or maybe it was the lighting. But it worked for him, either way. “I guess I did okay.”

  Their wine arrived and after Jason went through the taste-testing routine, which he carried off with the same casual aplomb he did with everything, he handed her a glass. She took a sip, resisting the urge to down the entire contents in one gulp. She’d revealed the truth about herself, and the date hadn’t come to a screeching halt. In fact, if she was any judge, he still seemed interested.

  “More than okay,” she said, confidence momentarily bolstered.

  He grinned at that. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you these past two weeks. You wreaked havoc on my focus while I was writing my closing arguments. I was tempted to call you, just to get you, that dance, the kiss, out of my head. At least for the moment.”

  Okay, the wine must have been laced with a hallucinogen. Was Jason Prescott really saying these things to her?