Perfect Plans

by C. J. Wells

  ~

  An hour and two boutiques later, I find myself trussed up in the most revealing dress I’ve ever tried on.

  “Stace, this dress is not happening. It’s see-thru for God’s sake”.

  “Oh come on. You look hot”.

  My insistent expression screams ‘Hell NO’.

  “Ok, ok. Try this one next”, she caves, handing me a black slinky dress.

  I hold it admiringly, pulling the curtained door closed. Slipping the black dress up over my hips, I slide the thin spaghetti straps over my shoulders.

  This is the one! I think to myself as I stare at my reflection. I feel completely, one hundred percent woman in this dress.

  Stepping out of the change room I find Stacey sizing herself up in the mirror wearing a skintight baby blue dress, short enough that if she bent over I’d see all her lady bits. She looks stunning. Of course that’s no surprise - she always looks stunning. Add to that, her eccentric personality and she’s practically infectious. Well, not quite infectious. More like captivating. People want her around. Particularly men, which works in her favor. I’ve never met anyone more addicted to men, and although she tires of them fairly quickly, she always manages to find some new hottie to entertain her. Even one in each city she travels. Case in point, Thomas, our escort for this evening. He won’t know what hit him when he casts his eyes on her tonight.

  “Some days I find it hard to focus because I’m distracted by my own cleavage”, she mutters, turning around. “Oh, Abs, that’s the one!” she gasps, jumping up and down; her voluptuous breasts bouncing with each bound.

  I giggle and do a little turn in the mirror, nodding my head in acceptance to having found ‘the dress’.

  “Let’s go pay for these bad boys and make our way back to the hotel. Or better yet, let’s hit a salon first for some pampering!” she turns to her change room in excitement.

  Taking a final look at my reflection, I smile in a brilliant show of white teeth.

  Here’s to putting my perfect plan into action!

  ~

  “Ugh… I’m so full”, I grumble, lounging on the bed, rubbing my belly.

  “Me too. Sorry to say, though, it’s time to grab a shower and get ready for our night, cupcake. Time’s-a-tickin’. You go first”.

  “Uh-uh. You’re the one who made us ralph down that entire pizza, it’s only fair you go first”.

  “Don’t give me that shit”, Stacey slowly lifts her head to glare at me. “You needed a beefy meal to prepare for the copious amounts of booze I plan on feeding you tonight. You’ll thank me later”.

  “That’s fine, but that doesn’t mean I’m getting in the shower first”, I stick out my tongue.

  “Damn you. If I didn’t love you as much as I do…” she begrudgingly pushes herself up and makes her way towards the bathroom.

  With anticipation for our night ahead brewing, I jump up from the bed, my belly groaning a little in protest.

  Making my way towards our shopping bags, I’m giddy with excitement. Like most women, I adore shopping. Particularly when I’m successful in finding exactly what I’m looking for. I didn’t break the bank or anything, but I did make a decent dent in my savings, having left my now favorite store with the sexy black dress, fabulous black heels, matching clutch, and dangly earrings.

  Hanging up my dress, I slide the chiffon material lovingly between my fingers.

  Tonight is going to be so much fun!

  ~

  Shaking our butts to the beat of David Guetta’s ‘Sexy Chick’, we continue the preparation fun in a way only meant for private time, laughing uncontrollably at each other’s ostentatious moves. Getting ready together is what girls do best.

  “I swear, if I’d seen you in that outfit years ago I would have stolen you for myself”, Stacey whistles, gawking at my lacy black thongs and matching bra.

  I have no qualms being mostly nude in front of her. She’s seen me naked too many times to count over the years. “I thought women weren’t your thing?” I chuckle at her dramatic attempt to make me feel sexy.

  “Right now, you’re making me question that”, she mutters, making me laugh out loud.

  I’ve always had an obsession with sexy under-things. From leopard print bras and matching thongs, to black bras with pink polka dots, my lingerie collection is extensive, always serving to make me feel luxurious and sexy. Even though no one else sees them.

  I try my hardest at that moment to recall if Liam ever had a similar reaction, but I come up empty. He was desensitized to them after years of subjection. No matter. I don’t care how Liam felt about my sexy undies, but how I feel wearing them. They make me feel sensual and sexy. There’s nothing quite as powerful as that.

  Sporting my perfect LBD, I’m ready to go. Oh, wait… I make my way to the mirror for one last make-up inspection, pulling out my new lip-gloss to apply it generously to my lips. There, I think to myself, pleased. All done.

  Exiting the bathroom I grab my clutch, slipping my lip-gloss in alongside our room key, ID and plenty of money for the night.

  “Ready?” Stacey questions through a giant smile.

  “Ready!”

  ~

  I’m in awe of the Wellington Club. It’s a site to behold, with its splashes of paint from red, to orange, to bright blue aimlessly thrown on the ratty printed wallpaper and distressed grey-black walls. The effervescent strobes of light flash artistic imagery of religious inspirations from Jesus to hell as I sway to the beat on the dance floor.

  We’ve been dancing all night, Thomas included. He’s a hoot. His quirky British sense of humor has my cheeks hurting. I haven’t stopped laughing in the hours since he met us at the hotel. I can see why Stacey is so enamored with him. She won’t admit she really likes him, but I know she does. I can tell. If you ask her, she’s only ‘using him for sex’.

  What a crock, I think to myself, watching their interactions on the dance floor - her periodic adoring stares into his eyes and sensual touches scream she’s into this guy. Dare I say she’s in love?

  Thomas certainly appears equally enthralled with her, and why wouldn’t he be? Particularly this evening in her fitted halter dress. Popping against her emerald green eyes and voluminous, shoulder-length copper hair, it accentuates her curvaceous body in all the right places, its plunging neckline framing her generous chest.

  With the music fading into a sensual beat, Stacey wraps her arms seductively around Thomas’s neck - my cue to hit the ladies room. With all this ass-shaking amongst the crowd, I could seriously use a mirror check.

  “I’M GOING TO THE LADIES ROOM”, I scream to get Stacey’s attention over the loud music.

  “WHY?” she screams back, “DON’T BREAK THE SEAL! YOU’LL BE PISSING ALL NIGHT”.

  “MIRROR CHECK”, I reassure her on a laugh.

  At her quick thumbs-up, I maneuver my way through the jam-packed bar towards the restrooms.

  Heading for the full-length mirror, I’m surprised to find my smoky eye shadow - care of Stacey - is still intact. She’s a miracle worker with a make-up brush, having framed my blue-grey eyes perfectly.

  I stand back, taking in my full appearance, plumping my long brown waves into some semblance of order. I feel sexy in my demure dress, showing just the right amount of cleavage. Doing a quick turn-about, I inspect the rear view as well; sliding my generous locks over my shoulder to admire the floral tattoos donning my upper right side - a bloomed lily in bright red and oranges, and a purple chrysanthemum. My two favorite flowers.

  Humph. It could be the beer talking, but I think I look pretty hot.

  You might upgrade to sexy if you remove the chastity belt - my inner actress makes me giggle.

  Exiting the ladies room with renewed confidence, I make my way towards the bar to get another drink, maneuvering past the stool patrons. I barely have time to react as a large burly man suddenly bumps me off kilter.

  Despite my best efforts, I struggle to catch my equilibrium in the impact. I fail
miserably, losing my balance, falling gracelessly backwards with a girlish squeal escaping my lips.

  Mortified, I realize I’m sitting in someone’s lap.

  From the thickness of the heated thighs supporting me, and the firmness pressing against my backside, I can only ascertain that it’s a man I’ve fallen on - a man with a seemingly large ‘package’. I can feel the pink rise in my cheeks.

  Oh my God, this is embarrassing, I think to myself, noticing the culprit of my fall turn back to his friends in oblivion. Fucker!

  Strong hands slide around my waist, assisting with my balancing act.

  “Whoa, sweetheart”, the man says from behind me, his British accent thick. “Are you ok?”

  “Y-yes. I’m sooooo sorry”, I mutter quickly, placing my hands on his strong thighs to push myself up.

  The stranger stands to help my momentum and I turn to apologize for my clumsiness.

  Looking up, I stare into the face of an absolute dream-like god.

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” the god-like man asks, his bright blue eyes clearly visible despite the darkness of the club, his hands resting on my shoulders.

  I’m dumbfounded, lost in his striking baby-blues.

  Looking up into his gorgeous face, I take in his chiseled jaw, cleft chin, and mass of dark curls. He’s the perfect combination of pretty and sexy. His strong nose, distinguished cheekbones, and full lips shaped to perfection.

  Instantly, I realize who he is.

  Holy crap. I’ve just fallen onto Alexander Tate - my inner dreamer leaps with joy.

  Alexander Tate, the world-renowned heartthrob I’ve worshipped on the big screen for years.

  Shocked silent, I barely notice Stacey’s approach.

  “Are you ok? I just saw you get pushed. Where did that bastard go?” She scans the crowd for the inebriated nuisance. “Holy shit”, her barely audible whisper suggests she’s taking in the god holding me upright. “Aby, introduce me to your savior so I can properly thank him”.

  “Ummm… I haven’t quite met him myself”. I continue staring shell-shocked into his beautiful eyes. I’m glued to him. Completely immobile.

  Am I dreaming this? Did I fall and hit my head?

  Alexander removes his hands from my shoulders as a small smile creeps across his face. “No thanks required. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I’m Alex, and you’re, Aby?”

  Alex? He goes by Alex? I’m speechless, ogling open-mouthed, feeling nauseous.

  Say something dammit! - my inner actress screams. Absentmindedly, I swipe my fingers across my lips checking for possible escaped drool.

  “Alex, good man”, Thomas approaches from behind Stacey, his hand extended in greeting.

  “How are you, Thomas?” the beautiful god speaks, pulling his gaze from mine.

  Thomas knows Alexander Tate and didn’t feel like sharing this tidbit of information with us earlier? WTF?

  “Good, good. Enjoying a night out with the ladies. I see you’ve come to Aby’s aid”.

  “I guess I have”, Alex smiles, his eyes returning to mine.

  God, his eyes are dazzling. I’m lost in their beautiful shade of blue. Enchanting. You’d need Google Maps to find your way out of them.

  “I’m Stacey Stevenson”, my boisterous best friend interjects, forcing his gaze away.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you”, he smiles before looking back to me; railroading my train of thought once more.

  “Your fall has clearly shaken you up”, Stacey saves me, recognizing my inability to speak - an edge of cleverness to her voice I know well. “Perhaps Alex should fetch you a drink”, she continues; her conspiratorial suggestion helping me finally find my voice.

  “No, no. I’m fine. Really. Thank you for saving my fall”. I feel a sense of renewed embarrassment at the ridiculous statement.

  This is how I meet a famous heartthrob? A simple introduction through Thomas would have sufficed, but nooooo, I had to FALL on him. Awesome.

  “It would be my pleasure to get you a drink”.

  “Excellent”, Stacey interjects. “Thomas, how ‘bout you and I go have a ciggy on the terrace. Aby seems to be in good hands. See you in a bit”. Thomas in tow, she flashes me a devilish grin over her shoulder.

  Left alone with Alex, I feel like a fish out of water. More than overwhelmed, I’m unsure of what to say. He must think I’m insane. Or mute.

  “Shall we?” he asks.

  “Shall we…?” Shall we do the tongue tango? I check for renewed drool.

  “Shall we go get you a drink?” he reminds me, his lips pulling into a slow, sexy smirk.

  “Oh… right. Ok”, I paste on a smile - a freaked-out, twisted one no less.

  Is this even happening? Am I being Punked?

  Turning back towards the bar, I feel the pressure of his hand at my lower back, causing me to shiver - it’s a surreal, though delicious touch.

  Oh my God, he’s touching me. He’s touching me!

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Heineken”, I reply, resting my arm on the bar’s sticky surface.

  Wow, I’m one-wording it now. I guess it’s better than letting my initial response escape - ‘I’ll have a big tall glass of you’.

  I’m trying my damnedest to act natural, but I know I’m failing miserably. His smirk tells me he knows it too.

  Whatever. I’ll just let him buy me a drink, say thank you, and be released from this embarrassing experience.

  As he places our drink order, I try nonchalantly to eye the nearest exit in hopes of avoiding being branded the drooling-clumsy fan of the year.

  He turns to me, holding out my Heineken with a smile.

  “Thank you”, I attempt to feign indifference to the fact that a heartthrob actor just bought me a drink.

  “You’re very welcome”.

  He’s looking directly down into my eyes, the crowded bar forcing us within inches of each other, quickening my heartbeat.

  God, the man is drool worthy.

  He must be over six feet tall. Six feet of sculpted steel. Sensual authority oozes from every inch of his body. He’s sex on a stick with the face of an angel.

  “Why don’t we take a seat? I have a table just up the stairs”.

  My eyes follow in the direction of his hand gesture. He wants me to sit with him? This can’t be happening.

  With my lack of reply insinuating acquiesce, he places his hand at the small of my back, “After you”, he offers smiling.

  His accent is dazzling.

  I’m totally unnerved and have no idea what to do. Why the hell does he want to keep hanging with me?

  Oh wait... He just wants to get laid. That has to be it. Why else would he want to sit with me?

  The nerve! I’m no hussy.

  Although, right now I kind of wish I was.

  The walk towards the stairs is excruciating. I can feel his gaze and my steps falter slightly. The sudden touch of his hand scorches my back as he assists my unsteady gait to climb the short steps.

  Reaching the top, I realize this is a private area.

  Turning back to look over the railing, I take in the view of the dance floor below.

  My eyes rest upon an attractive man staring at us from the bar. His eyes catch mine as I watch him surveying us intently.

  Oh, that’s the guy that was sitting next to Alex. He must be his friend. “Won’t your friend wonder where you are?”

  “He’ll survive without me”, Alex gestures for me to take a seat.

  Officially committed to sitting and chatting, I make my way towards the center of the sectional before he moves around the small table, taking a seat beside me in the opposite corner.

  It doesn’t escape me that I’m sitting with the most beautiful man I think I’ve ever seen. I shake my head inwardly that this is even real.

  Our proximity causes our knees to touch slightly. I’m bumping knees with Alexander Tate. This type of thing only happens in movies, doesn’t it?
>
  You’ll do just fine, you’ve been an actress playing a role for quite a while - my inner actress offers sarcastic encouragement, though it doesn’t seem to be working. I’ve been a pile of mush since I first looked into his incredible face.

  He’s looking at me with a sensual curve to his lips, his eyes glistening. His stare is so intense I feel like he can see right through me. It’s an unnerving feeling.

  But he is an actor, I remind myself. He’s good at portraying anything. Even portraying being interested in me.

  Why did Stacey leave me with this god? Oh right, she just wants me to get laid.

  Well, that’s not happening. Especially not with this man. I’d feel completely inadequate.

  Not to mention that a fling doesn’t fit into my ‘plan’ - a fling with an unattainable heartthrob at that.

  Self-preservation, don’t fail me now.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  “You’re American?” Alex asks, his fluid British-accent giving me goose bumps.

  “No, I’m from Canada”.

  He says nothing in reply, his orgasmic-inducing stare unflinching as he waits for me to continue. He’s clearly not satisfied with my one-liners. I’m not sure what more he wants me to say.

  “I needed a change of scenery, so I opted for London”, I add, giving the standard spiel. “I’ve been staying at the Intercontinental until I find an apartment. In fact, Stacey and I are going on the hunt tomorrow”.

  Why am I telling him this? From one-liners to spilling my guts. Ugh.

  I feel a bit silly for even trying to sustain a real-life conversation. Where are those damn acting skills of mine right now? They’d do me wonders if they’d show themselves. Perhaps then I could fake disinterest, instead of the nervous idiot I imagine I’m showcasing.

  Surely he isn’t interested in me, or my story. This is all a little much. I’m frustrated with the pretense, and a little annoyed that I’ve gotten myself into this surreal situation. It’s a complete waste of time. Sure, it’s pretty damn cool to have met a famous person. Who wouldn’t want to accidentally run into a heartthrob? Particularly one as hot as Alexander Tate. But to sit and have a chat? Get real. Clearly, he’s just hoping to pick up. It’s best to keep this brief. Why get hung up on someone who’s a foregone conclusion of walking out of my life the second he fulfills his sexual needs.