Tonight, with wine-soft bravery and a head full of Colt Evans adjusting my posture with those hands?
I pull the set out and hold it up to the light.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “I’m really going to do this.”
Thursday.
5:30 PM.
This outfit.
This body.
Me.
I toss it reverently onto the foot of the bed, like it’s made of gold.
For the first time in months… maybe years… I feel something fizzy and hopeful and reckless in my chest.
Confidence? Maybe.
Reckless? Probably.
I slide back under my blanket on the couch, wine glass in hand, flipping the reality show back on.
But this time, when the contestants strut around in swimwear, I don’t feel invisible.
I feel…strangely ready.
A little tipsy, a little dangerous, a littlealive.
And all I can think is:
Thursday, he’s going to see me.
And I’m going to flirt. Shamelessly.
I take another sip.
“Just two days,” I murmur.
And for the first time…two days feels too long.
Why is my heart hammering like a little school girl?
Chapter Four
COLT
By the time I get to my mom’s brownstone in Queens, the sun’s gone down and the November air bites sharp against my skin. I let myself in with the spare key and call out?—
“Ma? I’m here.”
Her voice floats from the living room. “In here, sweetheart.”
She’s on the couch wrapped in a fleece blanket, watching some old Italian cooking show with the volume way too low. Her hair is tied in a loose bun, and she looks small tonight—smaller than usual. That always gets me.
I drop my bag and sit on the arm of the couch.
