Chapter Eight
The following Friday, I stood in front of the only full-length mirror in the house; the one in the hallway. Studying my reflection with nit-picking severity. Was my dress too much? Was it not enough? It was a semi-casual white and blue floral print with a scooped neckline, narrow straps, and a straight skirt that clung to my thighs and just reached my knees. Maybe I should have chosen something that showed a bit more cleavage. I’d gone light on the make-up, but what if he preferred a older Hollywood; vibrant red lips and dramatic eyeliner look? I strand of hair kept falling on my face, and no matter how many times I swept it back with the rest, it simply would not stay.
Huffing, I was about to rush back to my bedroom to get another burst of hairspray.
“Hey,” Matt grumbled, pushing himself from his casual lean against the wall next to the mirror. “Where are you going?” he chuckled, grabbing my elbow and ceasing my attempt to scamper down the hall.
“I just wanna...” I replied, waving my hand around my head in a vague mime.
Releasing me, he folded his arms across his abdomen. “Why?” he scoffed. “You look great, that little bit of hair is sexy.”
“Sexy?” I repeated incredulously, flashing another unimpressed glance at my reflection. “With the greatest of respect,” I added, turning my attention only too willingly from the mirror and meeting his eyes. “How would you know?”
“You don’t occasionally look at a woman and think she looks sexy?” he probed. “Besides, I don’t need to have a craving to climb Mount Everest to know the bloody thing is massive.”
Silently acknowledging his points, I sighed. “Are you sure I look OK?”
“You look grouse,” he stated without equivocation.
“Grouse,” I echoed. “And grouse is good?”
With an elaborate groan and eye roll, he laughed. “For God’s sake woman, you look good enough to eat. The question is, is being eaten what you want?”
“I dunno,” I murmured. “Maybe,” I continued with a slight reluctance.
Did admitting that make me sound like a slut? But it had been nine months. No, it was even longer than that, because, for the last six weeks of my relationship with Rich, we hadn’t slept together. It was starting to seem like a drought of epic proportions and, while self-love was something I’d never shied away from, the desire for much more than our power shower could offer had been growing exponentially louder from the day I met Jay.
“Is he legit?” he wondered, crinkling his eyes, one of which had a huge bruise from a rugby match earlier in the week.
“He seems like a nice guy,” I replied. Of course, that didn’t really answer the question. But then, I wasn’t sure what the question was. Legit in terms of liking me? Legit in wanting more than just a quick grope? Well, I figured the answer was a ‘yes’ on both of those counts. But just how much Jay did want was a mystery to me. “I guess, we’ll have to see how tonight goes.”
“Well,” he breathed, “have a good time, and give me a call if you need me to come and pick you up or anything.”
“I’m sure I won’t need you to,” I assured him. “But thanks.”
I leaned forward and, with the help of four inch heels, didn’t need to stand on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. In turn, he wrapped strong arms around my waist and scooped me into a hug.
“You go get him,” he said warmly before releasing me.
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