Chapter Eighteen
Abby
“This was a mistake,” I say to Jenson, who is setting out a slew of dresses and makeup all over my bed.
After Don asked me out last night, I had to tell someone. Who better than my gay bestie? I even asked if he’d come help me get ready for said date. I didn’t think he’d bring the entire mall with him.
“No mistake, my darling. When I’m done with you, you’re going to make his jaw drop…and his cock rise.”
“I don’t think you’re a miracle worker, Jenson.”
“Oh, honey, just watch. Now, I’m going to set out some different options while you go take a shower.”
“Do I have a choice?”
He winks at me. “What do you think?”
I let out a heavy sigh and head toward the bathroom.
Jenson says, “And you better shave above the knee! And make sure you groom everything that needs groomed.”
Trying to avoid the inevitable, I take my time in the shower. I wash, shave, exfoliate, and groom for what feels like forever. I’m in there so long that I run out of hot water and have to quickly finish my shower under the cold spray.
I really don’t think Don and I will do anything naughty tonight. Instead, I’m sure I’ll do something to completely embarrass myself.
I doubt Don will be eager to jump into bed with me. At this point, I’m hoping we still have a friendship when the evening is over.
I spent all night thinking about that kiss. The man didn’t even use tongue, and I was already a love-sick mess.
I wonder how he kisses with tongue.
Still, I have no idea what prompted him to ask me out or how my speech didn’t completely scare him off.
But this is Don.
Over the past few weeks, he has inadvertently become a huge part of my life. As scary as dating is, dating him doesn’t seem quite as bad.
I just have to remind myself of that fact when it’s actually time for the date.
When I get out of the shower, I put on some lotion and head back to the bedroom. The mess on my bed has gotten even worse.
“Jenson, where did all this stuff come from? It had to cost a fortune.”
“Sweetie, that’s what receipts are for. Anything you don’t wear, we can return.”
“What’s wrong with my own clothes?’
He narrows his eyes on me. “Are you serious? I don’t think baggy sweats and holy t-shirts are going to cut it.”
“I have other clothes,” I defend.
“That aren’t leggings or old jeans?”
Alright, he’s got a point. “Fine. What do you have?”
He holds up a red dress.
“No,” I immediately say.
“Why not?”
“Because when I inevitably embarrass myself—which we both know I will—my face will match my dress.”
“Good point. No red.”
Next, he holds up a white one.
“Really?” I ask. “I’ll get stuff all over me.”
“Okay, no white.”
“Haven’t you learned by now that I’m a hopeless cause?”
“Oh, hush. You’re beautiful. I already know that. Now, we are going to show Mr. Sexy.” He walks to the other side of the bed. “Let’s go with a classic. You can’t go wrong with a little black dress.”
He holds it up. Although it’s a little skimpier than I would typically wear, I’m running out of options.
“Okay, fine,” I concede.
He then holds up a very tiny thong.
“Oh, hell no,” I say.
“We don’t want you to have panty lines through the thin material of the dress.”
“I hate you,” I groan as I grab the garment from his hands.
“You’ll be thanking me when Mr. Sexy is taking that thing off with his teeth.”
Yeah, right.
I’m still convinced that this whole thing will be some big joke. Maybe he won’t show up at all and then tell me, “Oh, you thought I was serious?”
Although that doesn’t sound like something Don would do, this situation doesn’t seem like something that would happen to me either.
Just breathe, Abby. Everything is going to be fine.
Two hours later, I’m all ready to go. Jenson has primped and quaffed me as much as possible.
But apparently, he’s still not done.
When he goes to touch a strand of my hair, I smack his hand away. “Enough. There’s only so much lipstick you can put on a pig.”
He pinches my cheek. “You’re just the cutest little pig I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”
“Oh, quiet.” He waves his hand at me. “How do you feel?”
“Uncomfortable,” I reply as I teeter on the heels he insisted I wear.
“Well, you look hot as hell. You’re making me reevaluate my decision to date men.”
“You’re full of shit.”
A knock on the door interrupts us. My stomach lurches as my nerves kick in. “Oh, gosh. He’s here.”
“Okay, calm down. You go and get the door. I’ll hide and then clean all this up before heading out.”
He practically shoves me out the door of the bedroom before closing it behind me. Awkwardly, I make my way to the front door.
As my hand turns the knob, I take a deep breath.
Let’s do this.