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In the end, the dress stays on, but it gets concealed beneath a giant wool coat. It’s early summer, so I’ll burn up the moment I step outside, but the alternative is walking through the halls of the co-op in nothing but a wisp of silk.
There’s no phone call or text waiting for me at 8:30 PM. No new emails either. So, once I’ve checked and rechecked my makeup and hair and adjusted my dress so it’s concealing as much as possible beneath the coat, I head downstairs.
His Porsche is waiting at the curb in front of the co-op—I know because half of my roommates are pushed up against the living room window, trying to get a good look. When I make it to the bottom of the stairs, I pause and listen for a second.
“Who is that?”
“Batman?”
“I don’t know. He just pulled up.”
“Do you KNOW what kind of car that is?”
“Jerry, since when do you care about cars?”
“Is someone selling drugs for the cartel?”
“Oh shit, what if he’s here to collect on debts or something? Should we, like, hit the deck?”
Ian is among the small group of twittering numskulls, and he’s the first the see me. I pull my coat closed. He glances from me, to the waiting car, and then back.
“I think your carriage is here, Cinderella.”
Half a dozen heads swing in my direction. I put on an awkward smile and wave as I scurry toward the door.
“Brooke!” one of them yells after me. “ARE YOU SELLING DRUGS?”
That question is followed by an audible oomph. “No, you idiot. Look at her. She’s going on a date.”
“Huh. Must be some place fancy…”
“Can you ask him if I can get a ride in his car when he drops you off?!”
Sure. Yeah. Whatever. I say what I need to before I rip open the front door and spill out onto the paved walkway. The driver’s side door of the Porsche opens and James steps out wearing a fitted tuxedo. James in a tux is the human equivalent of ice-cold milk with warm chocolate chip cookies. On their own, they’re each pretty great. Together, they’re otherworldly.
His hair is styled more formally than I’ve seen it, the short waves tamed and smoothed back. He’s sharp edges and dark brows, almost more intimidating than handsome—almost. I don’t want to overplay just how devastatingly handsome he looks. I mean, the heavens do crack open and tiny angels do start singing from above. That part is real, but I’m not sure if the earth really does tilt on its axis or if I’m just feeling unsteady perched on these Manolos. I’ll have to confer with a seismologist at a later date.
James steps forward to catch my hand before I step off the curb, and though it’s meant as a polite gesture, it becomes abundantly necessary as I step down and lose my balance, teetering on my heels for a moment. I blush. I’m a five-year-old girl who raided her mother’s closet. No, worse—I’m a woman 11 years his junior. I half-expect him to come to his senses, drop my hand, and drive away in his very fast, very sexy car, but instead, he smiles down at me.
“That’s some coat.”
His tone is teasing, and his hand is still wrapped around mine. I’m sweating. I want to rip the coat off and swallow big gulps of air. I want to look away from his clean-shaven jaw and come-hither eyes, but I can’t. Moth, flame.
“Well…” I counter. “This is some dress.”
I’m breathy, like the way I sound right after really good sex.
He nods and drops my hand, but his smirk doesn’t budge. “I asked Beth to send me a link so I could see it, but she said it should be a surprise.”
I love Beth.
“I’d like to see it now,” he continues, “but I’m assuming you want to wait until we aren’t in full view of your…housemates.”
I cringe as I turn around to find even more of my roommates crowded around the window, peering out. They wave excitedly and Jerry mouths, Ask about the ride!
“Yeah…they’re kind of an eclectic bunch,” I say fondly.
“I’d love to meet them, but we’re running a little late.”
Of course. I nod and turn back to the car. He leads me to the passenger side and opens the door for me. I’m very aware of the fact that I’m about to get into James’ car. Not three weeks ago I wondered what it would be like inside, and I’m not disappointed. There are buttery leather seats and a fancy-looking computer system on the dashboard. “I Can’t Go On Without You” by Kaleo—a sexy, crooning rock song—is playing from the speakers.
James: 1.
Actually, James: 6. The tuxedo counts for at least 5 points.
He slides behind the wheel and glances over, his gaze locking with mine as he asks if I’m ready to go. There’s a hidden meaning to his question, I’m sure of it, but instead of running for my life (while I still have one), I smile and nod. “Let’s go.”
