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“Ugh, thanks,” I say sarcastically, peeling the purple cocktail dress off my body. I turn back toward the closet and rifle through the rest of Sam’s dresses. They’re all at least one size too small for me. “You really need to think about eating a cheeseburger once in a while. Don’t you have anything in a bigger size?”
Sam springs off the bed and pushes me aside. She sorts through the closet for a minute, before pulling out a seashell pink strapless dress from the back. It’s cute, actually, gathered in the front, with a sash around the waist, the skirt falling to just above the knees. Simple. Elegant. But would it fit? I don’t want to get my hopes up.
I eye her. “What size is it?”
Sam shrugs. “I bought it three years ago for my cousin’s wedding. I’d just broken up with a guy and I’d gained a few pounds.”
With a scowl, I snatch the dress from her hands and slip it on. She zips me up, and thank God, it fits. I turn to the side, inspecting it from that angle.
“I won’t be able to wear a bra with this.”
She shrugs, handing me some strappy silver heels. “You don’t need one.”
They’re absolutely gorgeous heeled sandals. But I reluctantly put them on. I hardly ever wear heels, and will likely end up falling flat on my face. But this dress doesn’t exactly go with flip-flops, so I don’t really have a choice. And these shoes go so well with the elegant dress that I’m starting to feel like Cinderella.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I gape at myself. I look…different, to say the least. Hair pulled up into an elegant knot and my makeup done, Sam has transformed me into someone else.
“You have any nice underwear?” she asks, inspecting me in the mirror over my shoulder. “Something lacy?”
I shoot her a look. “No one’s seeing my underwear but me.”
She raises a brow as if she hardly believes me. “Wait, I have a few nice pairs I picked up but haven’t worn yet. Silky black lace. Nice and sexy.”
“Don’t bother. My granny panties hold everything in.”
She shakes her head, bending to dig through her bottom drawer. “The underwear is for you. To give you confidence. Here,” she says, yanking off a Victoria’s Secret tag and handing them to me.
They are beautiful, skimpy. I sigh.
Hands on her hips, Sam shakes her head at me. “So, tell me, why are you getting all dressed up for a guy you don’t even like?”
I shrug. “I like him, actually.” Maybe a little too much. “Just because I won’t be his mistress doesn’t mean I don’t like the idea of a gorgeous man lusting after me. I’m still a woman.”
I glance at the clock. Seven fifty-six. I hurriedly slip off my underwear and pull on the new panties. It’s strange, but she’s right…with the underwear, the glamorous updo, the strappy heels and the cute dress, I feel more confident, more feminine, more powerful.
Sam hands me a matching silver clutch into which I drop my keys, my phone and a five-dollar bill. She shoots me a look and I shrug. If he gets too grabby, I might need bus fare to get home. Hopefully not, because that five is the last one I own until payday.
I literally jump a foot when there’s a knock at the door at exactly 8:01. Fuck.
Sam laughs and rushes for the door, beating me there with a smug grin. She whips it open and he’s standing in the doorway, his face serene, the expression one of expectancy. He glances from Sam to me and back, flashing her his winning smile. I take that moment to give him a once-over, devouring him with my eyes. His tall frame is dressed in a sleek, black evening suit, snowy-white shirt and a dark-gray tie. Every stitch is tailored to perfection and hugs his powerful frame perfectly. Suddenly I can’t swallow in my tight throat, my heart thudding dangerously.
I want to back out here and now. I’m terrified, like a cornered hare facing down the fox. I reach up to put my hand on the door, almost giving in to the urge to slam it in his face, to run and hide inside my closet, curled up in the corner, like I used to when I was little—when my parents fought.
His gaze meets mine and he seems to sense that fight-or-flight instinct tensing in every muscle of my body. He places a hand on the door to prevent me from shutting it. “Good evening, Madeline.”
“Uh,” I manage.
Sam gets behind me and shoves me. “Have fun, you two! I won’t wait up…”
I shoot her an evil look over my shoulder as I step timidly toward him. He stands aside, his eyes gliding down over my form, catching on the strapless neckline of my dress and then again on my legs.
“Well,” he purrs as he steps back, placing a hand at the small of my back to guide me alongside him. “You certainly clean up nicely.”
I throw him a quick look, my eyes landing on that broad chest before skating away. “So do you.”
As we walk along to the car he has waiting for us on the curb, I become hyperaware of that hand on the small of my back, the warmth of it through the slick fabric of my dress. The pressure is just enough to be firm, guiding me to walk where he wants me to go, but not enough to feel overbearing. But there was no ignoring it, either.
My poor, unsatisfied body is fixating on every nuance of that touch, the outline of his large hand and every square millimeter of contact. As tempted as I’d been to stay in the bathroom and finish what he’d started this morning, I’d reassembled myself and marched back out to the counter as if nothing had happened. Kohl had disappeared and Keith had thrown me curious glances but didn’t ask me a thing.
