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I don’t know what to feel. I’m swarmed by emotions. “Hold on.” I need another few seconds to put my robe on. “One minute.” I grab sweatpants and a sweatshirt and pull those on over the robe. Am I dressed enough to hide the mortification I feel right now? No. I reach down and pull on my tall Uggs. Now I’m ready. “It’s safe now. You can come in.”
I rush to the far wall, farthest from the bathroom, and wait.
“Are you sure?”
The man has seen me naked, but now we’re just friends, so things are different . . . for now. “Yes.”
“Okay, I’m coming in.” The doorknob turns slowly before he pushes the door open. He peeks inside before walking all the way in. “I’m sorry. You all right?” he asks but can’t seem to look in my direction.
“Yeah, that was awkward.”
“Huh.” That’s all he says before walking into the bathroom and closing the door.
Huh? What is “huh” supposed to mean?
“I’m done in here. I’m coming into the bedroom now.”
“Okay, this is getting ridiculous. I’m dressed.”
When he looks up, he looks relieved before his expression turns confused. “Why are you way over there? And why so many clothes?”
I raise my chin into the air defensively. “I didn’t want to be caught off guard again.”
He stops with the doorknob in his hand. “Why are you way over there then?”
I try to play it off by shrugging and moving casually toward the bed while debating if I should lounge on it. I choose to sit like I’m fine, like him seeing me naked again is no big deal.
He watches me before heading out of the room in silence. I think he sees right through my act.
Just after five, I go into the living room and sit on the couch next to him. I’ve been doing my hair in the next room, but I kind of missed him. Leaning into his side, I feel better just being near him. He maneuvers his arm over my shoulders, and we watch television for a few minutes.
“You can use my shower now if you’d like.” I offer without taking my eyes off the television.
“You sure?”
“Positive. Hey, Charlie?”
“Mmhm?”
“Are you ever gonna look at me again?”
He laughs, which makes me laugh, and it feels so damn good to let the earlier tension out like this.
Standing to walk toward the bedroom door, he stops to say, “To tell the truth, I can’t take my eyes off you.”
My heart soars, and everything feels normal again. He always makes me feel so good with his sweet words. I wish I could do the same for him, but lacking time and that ability these days, instead, I ask, “Do you mind if I put on my makeup while you shower?”
“No, of course not.”
When he steps into the shower, he lets me know that it’s safe to come into the bathroom.
I’ve done my eyeliner by the time he speaks. “I kind of owe you a peep show now, don’t I?”
“I think we’ve shared enough already.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, maybe.”
I move into the kitchen with my makeup bag and finish applying it in there so he can have the privacy of the bedroom to get ready. After I finish, I’ll need to slip my dress and shoes on, and we can leave.
When Charlie opens the door and walks out, my jaw drops. Damn!
“I’ll take that face as a sign of approval. I look appropriate for the night’s festivities?”
My throat is dry, so I repeatedly swallow to wet it before speaking. “Yeah, guess it’ll have to do,” I say, aiming for nonchalance.
I’ve seen him in a suit a couple of times, once at the funeral and again at the club. He looked good both times, but my mind was focused on other things. Tonight, though, with him dressed like this, he receives my full attention. He’s wearing a fitted navy-blue suit with a white shirt and black tie, and he’s killing me with his gorgeousness.
One side of his mouth quirks up in tandem with an eyebrow. “Okay, glad it’s barely acceptable,” he teases.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I say. I then laugh as I pat him on the chest and walk back into the bedroom. “You look good, Charlie. There! You happy?”
“Sure am.”
Shutting the door behind me, I make my way to the closet and pull my dress from the hanger. Stylish and fitted, professional yet perfect for a cocktail party, I drop my emerald green dress over my head and step into my favorite heels.
Moving to stand in front of the full-length mirror, I tug at the zipper on the back of my dress. I suck in my stomach and tug a little harder. “Huh!” It feels snugger than usual. It’s got to be that heavy beer. Maybe that’s why I’m struggling with it. After many more tries, my arm hurts from being twisted back, so I open the door to my last resort—Charlie. “Do you mind helping me with this zipper?”
