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Vorfreude (n.) the joyful anticipation
That comes from imagining future pleasures.
___________
Bordeaux Daniels is an entirely different person than I thought he was.
His confession in the hotel room made me feel like a complete and total asshole. I had been pegging him as your typical narcissistic, rockstar, the egos you hear about from scorned personal assistants and tour bus drivers. I labeled him and stereotyped him, and it was wrong. I’m a strong enough woman to admit that... at least to myself.
Bordeaux’s question has me thrown. I don’t want Manuel back, but the fact he even asked is screwing with my head.
I don’t think I ever wanted him back. I wanted the perfect life I had been envisioning for three years back. I wanted the good times back, the old Manuel that I loved. But he isn’t that person. And as much as it hurts me to even be here right now, it’s the right thing to do. I’m not sure if bringing Bordeaux as my date to get back at him, to make things sting a little, makes me a bad person. But it isn’t the only reason I said yes to this fake wedding date deal.
I’m intrigued by Bordeaux. As much as I don’t want to be, as much as I know I need to turn off the switch and tell my therapist about it next week, I am super, super intrigued.
I like that he’s so incredibly in awe of the fact that I don’t seem to want to give him the time of day. I think it’s absolutely absurd that he has as much confidence as he does, but it’s hot. And while on the subject, he’s undeniably attractive.
But, while it’s not Manuel that I’m going to try to get back, I’m not sure if I should be trying to pursue anything with Bordeaux, either.
I just don’t think I can trust him. Even if he wasn’t a millionaire rockstar, he’s a man. And that’s bad enough.
In my defense, I’m this way with any man who shows interest. In fact, I’ve already been less than nice to countless men in the months since Manuel and I have been broken up. The minute any male even so much as glances in my direction, I make it clear that I’m not interested.
“So, what’s the plan, Casanova?” I ask him after spending nearly an hour in front of the mirror perfecting my face.
“You’ve literally morphed into a different person in front of my eyes.” I must visibly deflate because he quickly continues, holding his hands up, “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but I really hope you don’t think you need all that makeup, Isla. That’s all. You’re already sexy exactly how you are.”
My heart skips a beat in my chest.
Holy shit.
Bordeaux Daniels just called me sexy, and it didn’t even seem to faze him, didn’t seem like he thought twice about it. I try to control my out-of-control heart, calm it down a little with a deep breath. It’s been a hot minute since someone called me sexy.
“Next, did you happen to bring that dress, or something equally as form-fitting and eye-catching?” he asks, licking his lips.
I bend over and pick up a pillow, chucking it at him. Unzipping the garment bag hanging in the makeshift hotel closet, I reveal a skimpy red dress I plan to pair with shiny black heels and gold jewelry.
His mouth falls open and I think, for a minute, that I may have to pick his jaw up off the floor. “It looks even better on.” I know I’m being cocky, but he returns my smile and I know he’s anxiously awaiting to see if that’s true.
I head into the bathroom and after slipping the dress on, I walk out into the openness of the small room. “What do you think?”
His eyes pan up to mine and I swear I see him stop breathing. He goes so still that I’m afraid he’s having some kind of weird, trance-like episode. I’ve never evoked this type of physical reaction from someone before—at least, I don’t believe I have—and to get this response from him has me spinning.
He doesn’t say anything at first, but after a few moments, he stands and walks toward me, stopping inches from my face and looking me up and down. His chest heaves and I can tell his pulse is clearly giving mine a run for its money.
“I think this ex of yours would be a fucking idiot to not re-think his decision.” He runs his palm over his beard before biting his lip. It’s sexy as fuck, and I feel my skin ignite with want. Bordeaux is seriously so hot. I don’t know if it’s because of the confidence this dress gives me or the nerves I’m feeling about tonight, but something inside me wants to grab him and press my lips to his.
But I don’t.
I snap myself out of my Bordeaux Daniels-induced haze.
“I just want him to remember what he’s missing.” I glance in the mirror and give myself a once over with Bordeaux still standing close enough to feel his breath on my skin. “I just want him to hurt the way I have.”
* * *
“Ready to be my boyfriend?” I ask, looping my arm in his as the elevator door dings, opening to reveal the lobby.
“Funny you should ask. I’ve been waiting for this since you walked into the record shop.” He laughs, winking at me, but it doesn’t feel like he’s joking. We step off together and his scent—manly, with hints of amber and tobacco—wafts toward me. The first people we see, shockingly enough, are Manuel and Emilia. They’re surrounded by a group of their friends and it’s the first time I’ve been actually grateful that Bordeaux is here with me.
