“Don’t mind auntie Cassie,” I tell him.
“Spill,” she urges.
“Yes… well, nothing happened,” I explain. “We talked a little… and then we ended up in the white room.”
“The white room,” she says, a little too excited. “I hear it’s filled with candy.”
I laugh. “It is.”
Christian seems intrigued. The mention of candy always has this effect on him.
“We just talked some more, and that’s it.” I don’t mention the almost-kiss. What’s the point? It didn’t happen.
“You lucky bitch,” she whispers so softly, I barely hear her.
“Then he asked me to hang out at his place,” I go on, not believing my own words. It all seems too surreal. “I suggested he come here instead.”
“He was here?” she asks. “Here? In this cabin?”
I laugh. “Yes, and he survived. Fancy that! He’s just a regular guy, you know,” I tell her, knowing very well that Colton is many things but a ‘regular guy’ is not one of them.
“You would know,” she teases. “Since you two are best buddies and all now.” She’s smiling as she says the words, but there’s something in her expression that betrays her good mood. “What did you two do when he was here? Did anything happen?” Gone from her voice is the excitement, replaced by sheer curiosity.
“We watchedDaddy’s Homewith Christian,” I tell her. “We chatted a bit. That’s it. Nothing happened. We’re just friends.”
She nods slowly. “Interesting.” She doesn’t utter a word for the longest time which is completely unlike her. After a long silence, she asks, “Do you have feelings for him?”
I wave her words away, and straight out lie. “Nah… he’s not my type.” I don’t know why I lie, perhaps to convince myself. But unfortunately, I only convince her.
“Yeah, you like ‘em more rough around the edges, don’t you?”
I shoot her a closed lipped smile.
“I personally like them all. I like suits. I love plaid shirts. BMWs… bring ‘em on. F-350 pick up trucks… let’s go for a ride.”
I smile. “Yes, you’re definitely not as picky as I am when it comes to men.”
“You should be more like me,” she says. “You’d get a lot more action.”
I sigh. She’s right. I do need some action. There’s no denying that. I hadn’t realized that fact until now.
“And the last thing is,” I go on. “The dress and shoes. I mentioned just in passing when we were chatting that I had nothing to wear to the party, and next thing you know… a dress and three pairs of shoes show up on my doorstep.”
Her demeanor visibly changes. It’s subtle, but I notice it in the slouch of her posture and the straight line of her brows. She does not like this one bit. “Wow,” she says. “Show me,” she adds with a little more enthusiasm, feigning happiness for me. I can tell she’s jealous so I thread carefully as I go fetch the dress and the red shoes.
“Wow,” she says. “Dior.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s good, right?”
She shakes her head. “Go figure that you would get a designer dress and heels, and can’t even appreciate it.”
“Oh, I appreciate it,” I argue. “It’s stunning.”
She crosses her arms under her perky breasts. “It’s red.”
“So?”
“My dress is red.”
