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The pictures were great. Thank you,
I text to Tyler. Hey, he’s an asshole and he pisses me the hell off, but they were great. I can be nice to him if I want to be.
I told you they were incredible. I’m happy to stare at you in underwear if you want to repeat it.
And there goes my nice mood.
You’re a prick.
I tuck my phone back inside my bra and run toward my apartment. Sometimes, I’m glad I live downtown. Friday and Saturday nights aren’t those times, but on a Monday when it’s about to rain, I’m definitely happy I do.
I pick up the pace when a few odd drops of rain fall on my face. Somehow, I make it back to my apartment block before it comes down full force. It pelts the windows as I make my way upstairs, forgoing the elevator in favor of fitness.
Yeah, you can bet your ass I’m having takeout tonight.
“Where have you been?” Sean walks into my apartment without knocking.
“Seriously? I could have been naked in here.” I look at him from my position on the couch. And it’s not a lie. Given my seriously erotic dream about a certain photographer last night that involved our mouths, certain parts of our bodies, and possibly a scarf and my bedposts, the temptation to be tucked up in bed with my vibrator—again—is almost overwhelming.
“Do you regularly watch TV naked, lying on the sofa, with one of your legs hooked over the back?”
“Perhaps I do.” I swing my legs around and sit up, patting the space next to me. “What’s in the bag?”
“A new pair of shoes.”
“For me?”
“No, darling, I regularly bring myself home five-inch heels.”
I gasp and reach for the bag. Sean shakes his head, holding it away from me.
Sean shakes his head, holding it away from me. “Do you have wine?”
“Seriously? You’re bribing me?”
“Liv, these are one-thousand-dollar shoes. If you can’t manage a glass of wine, then we’re reevaluating our friendship, darling.”
I roll my eyes and sigh, but my insides are buzzing with excitement. I love shoes. I love shoes like Dayton loves lingerie. They’re my guilty pleasure—the one addiction I allow myself to indulge in. And Sean, being a sales assistant at Arabella’s, the hottest shoe store in Seattle, adds to my indulgence whenever he can.
After all, he works in a female shoe store. Not even he can get away with those shoes. So last season’s styles and samples at a huge discount come right my way.
I put two glasses of wine on the coffee table and sit down. “Gimmee gimmee gimmee!” I punctuate each word with a bounce.
Sean, the bastard, grabs his wine and sips it slowly, grinning before handing me the bag.
I dive into it the way a candy-deprived kid would attack Wonka’s Nerds. And I gasp when I open the box. Oh my God. “Sean! These are new season Louboutins! How? Why? I mean, what?”
I twist the nude Lady Peep Sling Patent shoes around, staring at every inch of the gorgeous creation.
“Well, we had some discount. They seriously overstocked and the warehouse refused to take them back, so Fiona said we could use our end-of-line discount. Plus, I remembered I totally forgot your birthday because I was out of town. So this is a belated birthday present.”
“My birthday was nine months ago.”
“Eh, I forgot Christmas too.”
True.
“I can’t accept these,” I say, never taking my eyes from them.
