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“Don’t want to keep that luxury clothing waiting.”
“Nope,” I laugh.
Once outside Ben walks me to my car. I lean against the driver’s seat and my car chirps unlocked. I don’t know how to leave things. I only know I already don’t want to leave things at all. And I hate feeling this strong a pull to anyone.
“I still owe you a meal,” he says, leaning his arm against the roof of my car. “Do you have any dinner plans tonight?”
“You really don’t owe me anything. Not after all the wrong conclusions I drew.”
“So you don’t want to have dinner with me?” He squints in the sun, leans in my direction.
“Well, I do. But not out of a sense of obligation.”
“It’s not obligation. I just said that because …” he looks to the east, and the sun makes his irises sparkle like brown and yellow diamonds. “I’m not too good at this. I haven’t asked anyone out in several years.”
Jarred by his confession, I feel myself pull back. “Oh. And here I had you pegged as a male gigolo.”
He chuckles. “I guess that’s better than slovenly asshole.”
“You’re definitely not slovenly. Asshole though? That’s yet to be determined.”
There’s the smirk that gives him personality. “Fair enough. So dinner. Yea or nay?”
“Yea.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at eight. Am I safe in assuming I should come to the same apartment?”
My eyes drift to the bullet around his neck, and this time, I’m close enough to see the inscription.
Mason 09~18
My breath catches, and I look back up at Ben. His face has gone hard again. I wonder if he expects me to ask about it.
I don’t.
“Uh, yeah. Same apartment.”
He gives a two-finger salute and heads to his car. And I try not to stare but I can’t help but ogle him like an oversexed teenager.
Proving I’m not as dead inside as I thought.
_______
I’m tearing through my closet like a rabid she-wolf, trying to find something suitable to wear on my dinner date with Ben. It shouldn’t be any different than when I’d get ready for dates with Devin. But it is.
Worlds different.
It’s weird when I think back on it. I never got stressed out or felt like I had to try hard to impress her. And the few hetero dates I went on before her, I held back because I was worried about beingtoosexual, of sending the wrong message before it was ready to be sent.
Tonight I want to feel like a sexy vixen. I want to drive Ben wild, force him to summon every ounce of restraint to keep his hands off me. I have truly metamorphosed because I never dreamed I’d feel this way about a man. Not with my past and constant feeling of being closed off. Turns out I just wasn’t in the presence of the right guy.
With a slight chill in the air, I forego the mini skirt and settle on some black leggings, a long-sleeved floral silk blouse with a plunging neckline, and hunter green pumps. I spend even more time on my hair and makeup. When I have a few minutes to spare I grab the newspaper clipping of Peter Snowden’s obituary and slide it inside my purse.
I hear a knock at the door, a double followed by triple. It’s Daddy. He set up this code-knock after Mom died.
Great. I’ve been waiting to hear from him all day, to have the most important conversation of my life with him, and now he decides to show? Funny how your priorities shift before a date.
I open the door and barely acknowledge his presence before walking back to the kitchen where my compact mirror sits. “Hey, Daddy. What’s up? I’m getting ready to head out.”
