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“Okay, then let’s finish filming my final look.” I’m pulling some double duty today, using my sponsored make-up to get ready for my date but also filming a ‘get ready with me’ video. I just need a shot of the completed look and I’ll be ready to edit the full video into one seamless video with transitions from phase to phase.
I find the right angle on my halo light and use the Bluetooth remote to set the timer on my phone’s camera. Three, two, one . . . pose and click. I reset it to go again and do another pose. And then a third and fourth. Flipping through them, I decide the third one’s the charm and send it to my laptop.
“Raffy, come here, baby,” I tell him. He glares at me, and with a huff of annoyance, he gets up and hops off the bed to come over. But then he stops to stretch, and I encourage him, “You want to be in a picture with Mama? Of course you do!”
He’s a diva in training, minus the training part, and he loves his fans. Mostly because they send him treats. Scooping him up, I hold him at arm’s length and look into his little face. “You’ll always be my number-one boy, right?”
“Rawf!” That gets a more enthusiastic reaction, and I snuggle him in close.
Grinning, I reset my camera and then use the remote to make my phone beep. The noise gets Raffy’s attention, and he looks directly at the camera, right on cue. I have just enough time to smile and pose myself before Raffy starts squirming. It takes more than three tries, but in the end, I have a good one, me smiling to the camera while Raffy looks adorable in my arms.
I send that one to my laptop too. After Raffy’s approval. “Who’s the best doggy model in the world? That’s right, you are.” I set him down, and he jumps right back on the bed and continues with his half-asleep nap. Only half-asleep because if I make a move toward the kitchen or crinkle a food wrapper, he’d be at my feet, begging for a bite, in less than a blink.
I finish the video quickly, posting it to my page with all the appropriate hashtags, including Joroast Cosmetics.
Now that that’s done, there’s no more stalling from nerves or rushing around with excitement. I have just enough time to grab yellow sandals from the back of my closet and slip them on my feet. No socks today, and no Docs, which feels weird, but dressing up for Mark seems like the right thing to do.
I’m also hoping that without my identifiable markers, maybe he won’t recognize me right off the bat and I can explain my work and the fake name. Of course, there’s always the chance that even if I went into the date in full ‘Riley Sunshine’ mode, he still might not know who I am. But I can’t count on that.
Not when it’s this important.
I take a few laps around the apartment, on wood floors and rugs, to be sure I haven’t forgotten how to walk in these things. It’s been at least a year since I’ve worn heels.
Nothing would be more embarrassing than falling on my butt just as Mark and I meet because I’ve forgotten how to walk in heels. I remember falling at the home last week—in my boots, mind you—and make a few more trips from the kitchen down the hallway, using it as a runway. “Okay, I think I’m ready,” I tell Raffy.
Raffy assures me that I’m going to be fine, that Mark’s not going to be a one-eyed Phantom of the Opera, and that even if he is, I’ve got a big boy who’ll give me kisses at home. Or at least that’s how I’m choosing to read his yawn and repositioning to lie on his back with his belly exposed. His head is on my pillow, keeping it warm for me.
I give myself one last lookover in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. Hair, blonde and curled. Makeup, on point, literally photo-ready. Blue dress, like I said I’d wear. Yellow heels, yellow nails, and a tiny gold sun necklace at my throat. I’m still me, Riley, just not the full-throttle Riley Sunshine.
I figure that Mark will be in a suit, coming from the office. Knowing that helped guide my dress choice in that it’s demure but still has enough of a V-cut in the bodice that it’s sexy too. As Eli likes to joke, I could go to the church picnic, but probably not Sunday services. I don’t think Eli has ever been to either, so I’m not sure how he’d know.
That reminds me, I’m supposed to let Eli or Arielle know where I’m going when I go out on a date. Safety first. Arielle has still been swamped at work all week, so I send Eli a quick message . . .
