“So, what do you think we should do with your hair?” the girl asks me.
“Um, make it pretty like my makeup?”
“Color touch-up?”
“Sure, why not!”
“Well, the color is fading, so I’d like to wake it up a little bit but at the same time lift some of it and bring out some more of your natural color so that it can grow out with less upkeep. Maybe a couple layers to give it some movement.”
“Fine by me,” I smile.
“After that, a curly up-do, with soft tendrils around the face,” Remi instructs.
I clap my hands, excited about my makeup, my hair, tonight. “Wait,” I say. “Last time we did my hair and makeup more edgy with this dress. Should I do that again?”
“We didn’t bring the dress,” Kat says.
I look at them both, waiting for the punchline. “I . . . you . . . shit you guys.”
“Hang on a sec,” Remi says. She steps out of the room and then returns with an assortment of boxes and hands them to me. I look from Remi to Kat and back to Remi again. Neither says a word, Remi points to the little card attached to the top box. I open it.
“I’m going crazy. I’m standing here solidly on my own two hands and going crazy.”
For you. —Cole
The first tear slides down my face. And then the second. This guy. There’s just no way this guy is for real. He watched my movie. The Philadelphia Story. And he quoted the main character. In a card. To me. I don’t deserve him.
You don’t deserve him.
It won’t last.
“This is all from him?” I ask Remi, gesturing to the boxes.
“And this,” Remi says pointing to the makeup and hair people.
“Compliments of this,” Kat says waving a credit card in the air.
“Is that a Black Card?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s your boyfriend’s,” she says.
“Wow, can I see it? I’ve never seen one in real life.”
“That’s the same thing I said!” Kat says. She hands it to me for a moment then snatches it back. “I’m responsible for it. There’s no telling whether you can be trusted. I have to give it back to him later.”
“Open. Open. Open,” Remi says, pointing to the boxes.
I open the first box and pull out a small, champagne colored, hard case evening bag, with a thin rose-gold chain. I think it’s the prettiest purse I’ve ever seen. It’s feminine, but not dainty, and it’s big enough for my phone and lipstick plus a few other things. The women ooh and aah over it, then I set it back in the box and go for the next larger box. I lift the lid and peek inside.
“They’re Manolos!” Kat cries, jumping up and down.
I open the box all the way. Sure enough, inside are a pair of nude, strappy Manolo Blahnik’s with a stiletto heel. They are stunning. I close the box and set everything on the floor. “This is too much. I can’t take all this. Why would he do this? It’s too much money. I’ve never had shoes this expensive.”
“You haven’t even seen the dress yet,” Kat says. Remi backhands her in the stomach.
“Is that what’s in the other box?” I ask. Both girls nod.
“Is that why you didn’t bring my dress?”
Both nod again.
“What do I do?” I ask.
“Accept it graciously, just like with the award,” Remi says, picking the boxes up off the floor.
“Clearly, he can afford it.” Kat waves the AMEX around. “The man is loaded,” she sings. “You know that truck of his is like a seventy-five-thousand-dollar truck? You should have seen Brad salivating all over it when he dropped me off.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say, thinking of how careless I was the other night swinging my legs all over the place. I should have known better.
I reach my hand out for the third box, Kat hands it to me. I feel a little bit like Pretty Woman right now, without the hooker part. I open the box, hesitantly. Like with the others, the contents are arranged neatly in tissue paper with a ribbon around it. I undo the ribbon, fold back the tissue paper, and get my first glimpse of the dress.
It’s exquisite.
There are no other words for it.
Sheer with a nude colored lining, covered in beads, pearls, and sparkles. Long sleeved with a deep-V in the front. Sexy as hell, but still kick-ass and youthful. In one outfit, Cole has managed to create the girl I want to be tonight. The girl that matches my makeup. How does he know me so well? And know exactly what I need? The girl in this dress deserves to win the Winemaker of the Year award, because she fucking earned it.
I can’t wait to put it on. “Did you guys tell him my size?”
“We both said different sizes,” Remi says.
“But then he did the cutest damn thing,” Kat adds. “He held his hands apart and told the girl that was how wide your hips were. And she picked the size based on that.”
She’s right. That’s just straight up adorable. I grab my phone to call him.
“You’ll never believe what I’m looking at right now,” I say when he answers the phone.
“What’s that, sweetness?”
“The most beautiful dress I have ever seen.”
“Does that mean you like it?”
“My God, Cole, it’s beyond words. Everything you’ve done today is just . . . it’s so . . . thank you. So much. I don’t even know how to repay you.”
“No repayment required.”
“How about thank you’s?”
“I like thank you’s,” he says.
“What about thank you’s in the form of actions and not words?” I lower my voice.
“That’d make us about even, I think,” he says, his voice low as well. I hear someone in the background.
“Are you with someone?” I ask. He should be on his way already. Why would he be with someone else?
“Uh . . . yes, I am.”
Just like Trevor.
I can’t believe it.
Is he even planning on showing up? I guess I’ll find out.
“Aren’t you on your way already?” I ask.
“I am, yes.”
That’s when I hear the word shtuping in the background. “Is that Mavis with you?” I ask.
I can practically hear his cringe before he answers.
Relief floods through me. I can’t believe I compared him to Trevor. Of course, he’s not like that.
“Now before you get upset—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I’m glad she’s coming. I was actually surprised she hadn’t insisted on it before now.”
“I’m glad to hear it, because—"
“Hey, cowboy, your girl’s got to get her hair done. You can make kissy noises later,” Kat yells into the phone, interrupting him.
“You heard the lady,” I say. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.”
“See you soon, sweetness.”
Jessica, the hair stylist, tells me it will take about two hours for my hair. So, the girls and I open a second bottle of champagne. Kat gets up to grab the red vines, bringing them back to within reach and Remi takes that moment to hit the restroom. I glance quickly in the mirror only to see foil pieces sticking out at all angles and the hairdresser painting a deep purple on some of the rest of my hair. It is not that I am not adventurous with my hair, because obviously I’ve worn it in varying shades of pink for the last few years, in a variety of styles but I am eternally devoted to my hairdresser and having anyone else touch my hair makes me nervous. Especially someone who works at a hotel.
“So, how long have you worked at the hotel?” I ask the woman working on my hair.
“Oh, I don’t work at the hotel. Cassandra, the makeup artist, and I were both hired by Mister Mason. I am at Evan Graham Hair Studio and she’s at Chanel.”
“Oh!” I say surprised. Evan Graham is a super swanky downtown San Francisco hair salon where basic cuts begin in the triple digits. I can’t even imagine what a cut, color, and style is.
Two hou
rs later, my hair looks amazing, beyond my wildest expectations. And hopefully that’s not the champagne talking, and I’ll still feel the same way tomorrow. The shade of pink is much lighter and subtler, it almost blends with the natural blond of my hair. My natural color is more of a white blond. Somewhere in between the singer, Gwen Stefani, and Khaleesi from Game of Thrones. She brushed my bangs to the side and gave me wispy layers on the sides so my hair falls loosely around my face in an almost unintentional style. She added a couple curls and flips to give it some sass, and tells me that in the future, I’ll be able to wash and go and have an actual style to my hair without much effort.
“You’re a miracle worker,” I say to Jessica as I swish my hair back and forth. I feel guilty for cheating on my regular hair dresser, but the transformation in my overall appearance is startling to say the least. I look like me, only better.
Lexie 2.0, the hot version.
I mean, I know I’m attractive, but I’m attractive-cute, not attractive-hot. Kat and Remi are attractive-hot.
Today, I’m right there with them.
Squeee!
Chapter 36
Cole
“This trip is goin’ slower than a herd of turtles,” I mutter to myself.
Mavis opens the passenger door and I get out to circle around and help her in. She turns to me. “Do we need to talk, Cole?”
“Talk?”
“About the shtupping. You are prepared, no?”
“I believe so, Miss Mavis,” I say as the Ninth Circle of Hell opens up and sucks me in. I thought for sure Mavis and I had put these discussions behind us.
“You are circumcised?”
I was wrong, this is worse than the Ninth Circle.
“I am, Miss Mavis.”
“Is good. My bubala, she will not know what to do with all the skin.”
I close my eyes.
Dear lord, please kill me now.
“No beybiz. Not in first year. After? All you want.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Babs gets to the car next, I help her in as well, then shut the door after the two of them.
“Babs? Yes? No beybiz in first year?” Mavis questions Babs.
“Oh yes, sugar. Y’all need that first year to adjust to married life. No glove, no love, you hear me?”
I could have gone my entire life without hearing my grandmother say, “no glove, no love” and been just fine.
“Any other guidance you two feel the need to impart?”
The two women look at one another, some unspoken secret conversation passing between them.
“Naw. I think you’ve got this, sweetheart,” Babs says, reaching over Mavis to pat my knee while I pull onto the freeway again. “But if y’all have any questions, just call me, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
I valet park at the hotel, help the ladies out of the truck, grab our luggage, and pass the keys and a Benjamin to the attendant. My parents haven’t arrived yet, so I check them in along with us, this way Babs and Mavis have a place to go to until the ceremony begins. I escort Babs and Mavis to their room and head to mine. After that drive, I am desperate for some peace and quiet, even if for just a minute.
Mavis and Babs were already dressed in their finest semi-formal wear when I picked them up. My guess is they were ready at six this morning, that’s how excited they are about this. And I don’t think it has as much to do with Lexie’s award as it does knowing that tonight we will consummate our relationship and she’ll meet my parents. As far as Babs and Mavis are concerned, Lexie and I are as good as wed at that point, and their job here is done.
If only it were that easy.
Chapter 37
Lexie
Jessica throws my hair in an up-do that’s messy and sleek at the same time. Kat and Remi have since gotten their makeup done, and Jessica moves on to do their hair as well. Remi in a chignon, and Kat’s slicked back to hide the hair loss, with a scarf wrapped around it and tied at her neck. Then the two girls leave.
Which is when the three shared bottles of champagne hit me, “Shit, I think I’m drunk,” I say with a burp. “I can’t be drunk. I have to give a speech.”
“You should practice it,” Kat says. “If you practice, it won’t matter if you’re drunk.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Remi says. “Remember when you had to give a speech at that law school girl’s wedding?”
“Oh, that was a disaster,” Kat agrees.
“Is that when you called the groom a dork who was lucky to get laid at all let alone married?” I ask.
“Yes.” Kat buries her head in her hands. “And I had practiced it a lot. But when I got up there, it was like everything got jumbled in my head.”
“Okay, I can’t have that. It’s bad enough having people like Sawyer Grant out there thinking what they think without me then looking like the sloppy chick on prom night.”
“I can’t wait to spill my drink on him, such a serious dick,” Kat says.
“I’ll just eat more cheese and meat,” I say. “Soak up the alcohol.”
“Careful,” Remi says. “You don’t want to bloat in that dress.”
“So many rules when you’re a girl,” Kat says. “It so unfair.”
I grab a bottle of water instead. “Plus, I’m having sex tonight and I need to be awake and not drunk for that.” I carefully take my dress off the hanger and lay it on the bed. Then strip off my hotel robe and try to figure out how to put it on without messing my hair or makeup. It’s got a little stretch to it, but not a lot. The hidden zipper goes from mid-hip to just under my armpit. Kat comes over to help me get it over my head and then my hips. She zips it up, it fits perfectly. Granted, there’s no room for anything else between me and the material, but it’s on and it fits. I’m amazed Cole got it right.
“Drunk sex is awesome, but not for the first time,” Kat agrees, helping me into my shoes.
“Yeah, that first time, really that first night, is for passion and exploration, a few quickies, a long-job or two—”
Kat interrupts Remi, “My God, woman, how long was your first night with Bauer?”
“So long, and so good,” Remi says. “We haven’t had sex since before the accident, I’m kinda dying here.”
“Hasn’t it only been like a week?” I ask, taking a few practice laps around the room in my shoes. They are high. Not the highest I’ve ever worn, but a good four inches, with the offset of a low platform sole.
“Two weeks,” Remi says.
“That’s nothing,” I say. “I go months without sex.”
“You get it good, and on the regular, two weeks is forever,” Kat sighs.
“Amen to that, sister,” Remi adds, as she carefully drops her black dress over her head and lets it settle down her body. It’s a gorgeous single shoulder design with ruching on the sides and a slit to mid-thigh. With her hair in the low chignon, the overall effect is more like a young Liz Taylor than her typical vintage style. She smooths the dress down the front and glances at herself in the mirror, anxiously.
“You look amazing,” I tell her. She looks at me through the reflection and smiles. I turn and continue walking around the room.
“Hey, Trevor was good with sex,” I say.
“College guy good is never as good as grown-up man good,” Kat says.
Remi raises her glass in agreement.
“I’m nervous.” I look down at my nails, wishing I still bit them, but not wanting to ruin my manicure. I settle for tapping my fingers against my lips.
“About tonight?” Remi asks.
“Yes,” I confirm. “I haven’t had sex since Trevor, and before that it was just a couple one off’s, and Trevor. What if I’m bad at it?”
“You’re not bad at it,” Kat says as she steps into her dress. It’s like an oversized silky shirt design, just this side of dressy. Short, cuffed sleeves, a deep V-neck that is down to her midriff, and a high center slit. In fact, the closer I examine it, I realize
the only thing holding it together is the belt at the middle. It’s just one side overlapping the other, like a beautiful silver bathrobe.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I just do.” She shrugs her shoulders.
“Come here.” Remi stands up and moves behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders and steering me toward a mirror. Her dark hair, cat lined eyes, and red lips a sharp contrast to my light hair, smoky lid eyes, and glossy lips. “Do you see that woman in the mirror?”
I’m tempted to ask her which one, but I know what she’s getting at. So, instead I nod.
“She oozes sexuality. The soft, ethereal kind that men in history raided entire countries for. Not only that, but you are IT. The ideal that women strive for. Barbie dolls look like you for God’s sake. Everywhere you go, men’s eyes follow. Women’s too. You attract people to you because you are so magnetic, we are all just moths to your flame. And the best part, Lex? The best part is that you don’t even realize it. And that makes your raw, sensual appeal that much stronger. Man, I wish you realized it and just harnessed that power. Because you are such a fucking badass.
“Women like Kat and me, we have to work for it. I have to create myself every morning, with my hair and makeup and outfits. I create a persona that is attractive, but it’s not easy. And Kat, she has that personality that sets her apart, plus she’s tall, so because of those things, she gets attention. But neither of us just have it the way that you do.”
“As long as we are all clear,” Kat interjects. “That I don’t have to work as hard at it as Remi.”
I laugh. Remi flips her off.
“But,” I start. Remi shushes me and continues talking.
“You don’t know how to do anything without passion and gusto. Not your job, not your friendships, not your relationships, and I guarantee not your sex life. So, when you ask how we know you’ll be good at it, it’s because, Lex, you are incapable of being bad at anything you care about. Not only will you be good, but you are going to be fan-fucking-tastic at it.”
Love Unforgettable: Love in San Soloman - Book Three Page 22