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Shit.
Oh, God, no.
No, no, no.
He can’t be here tonight. Not when I look like this.
I peer in the kitchen window to see my reflection in the glass.
He bangs on the door again.
My face is black, and my hair is an ungodly mess.
My phone rings.
Oh, hell.
Shit.
Mothereffer.
I swipe my phone off the counter. “Luke, what’s up?” I attempt to sound normal, but even I don’t recognise the voice that squeaks out of my mouth. It screams guilt.
“Why aren’t you letting me in?”
“Oh… Are you at my place? Sorry, I’m not home.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Callie, I can see your car from where I’m standing. I know you’re home.”
Fuck, fuckity, fuck.
Double fuck.
You have let me down big time, God. You owe me now, buddy.
“Ummm…” I’m lost for words.
“Callie, what’s going on?” He’s beginning to sound frustrated with me.
“Can you go away and come back tomorrow?” God, I’m turning down sex here, I just know it.
“I’m not leaving. And you need to tell me what’s wrong.”
I just want good sex, God.
That’s all.
Is that too much for a girl to ask?
Sex with a perfectly waxed bikini line. Sex with waxed legs. Sex with beautiful blonde hair. Sex without a black, freaking mask stretched across my face making me look like God-knows-what.
I sigh. “Hang on.”
I yank the door open and stare at him. His eyes flick to my hair before landing on my face, and then travelling the length of me. He seems to get stuck on my legs. Well, pretty much every inch of my legs is on display in my short, sexy robe. At least I’m not wearing my old panties or a
shirt riddled with holes. There is that. There is only that.
“See why I wanted you to go away,” I say while waiting for his gaze to return to mine.
