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Casey squeals again, and we spend the next few minutes rifling through various pieces of Dutch underwear.
Half an hour later, I’m in a changing room, looking at what Casey picked out for me with wide eyes. “This is...wow.”
“I know, right?” she chimes from behind the door.
I’m clad in lacy baby blue bustier with pale pink silk laces, matching baby blue lace panties, and a sheer, silvery chemise to go over it like a transparent short dress falling to mid-thigh. It’s definitely the opposite of what I’d normally wear, but I have to admit...I look pretty good in it. I do a little twirl and start feeling out how it hugs my skin in the mirror.
“So,” Casey’s voice comes again, “how was he?”
“Jack? Well, he’s tall,” I say stupidly. Obviously he’s tall. Casey’s snort behind the door makes me roll my eyes. “I didn’t get a really good look at him, I mean, we weren’t in a bed or anything, just in a nook on the roof.”
“Holy shit, you little exhibitionist!” she cackles, and I blush furiously.
“Nobody saw!”
“That you know of.” That makes my heart drop, but Casey laughs again after a moment of my silence. “I’m kidding, girl, oh my god. But like...how was he?”
“He was...big. Really big.”
“Mmph,” Casey’s voice comes, and I knock on the door with a furrowed brow.
“Alright now, enough of that!”
“Let a girl dream!” Casey retorts.
Hours later, we’re finally getting back to our rooms and changing for our nights out. Casey told me a little about her guy — sounds like she’s hooked up with the guy who snatched her at the afterparty. She’s heading out on a date with him tonight, too.
We emerge from our respective rooms, having gotten dressed, and while Casey is wearing a sensible cardigan outfit, the look she gives me makes me blush and want to run back into my room.
“Oh. My god,” she says. I’m wearing the lingerie I bought earlier today under a white belted trench coat and pale pink shimmering scarf. “You look like a porn star.”
“Casey!” I protest, looking down at myself. “I don’t know...this might be a little much. This is only my second time actually seeing him, you know? What if it turns him off and I don’t get invited to the afterparty?”
“Girl, dressed like that, you are the afterparty!”
My cab lets me out at the venue, if it could be called that, and I look around with a puzzled expression. There’s not a soul around, and it’s pretty dark but for the few street lights and the lights from the ships in other wharfs.
Oh god, what if I heard him wrong? What if he was just setting me up? What if this is all some awful prank? Jesus, I’m an idiot.
I’m just about to turn around and call up the cab again and go home when I hear the distinct thrum of an acoustic guitar, and I blink, turning to look for the source.
And my mouth falls open.
Girl your gorgeous sea-blue eyes
And hair like silvery white gold
Can’t keep me from lookin’ at your thighs
And babe, you’ve got me sold
Jack is stepping towards me as I cover my mouth with my hands out of embarrassment, but the lopsided grin on his face as he plays tells me he knows damn well how bad his freestyle is.
“I’d leave that one out of the next album if I were you,” I say, giggling as he reaches me. I look around, and suddenly it dawns on me — the rest of the band isn’t here, and there’s nobody else on the whole wharf. It’s just me and Jack. My face goes beet red.
He got me out on a date alone.
“Yeah, well,” he says, leaning in to plant a kiss on my lips that warms the chilly air around me, “I hope I’ll get a little time to brush up on it. What do you think?”
