Chapter 38 #2
Of course not. He wouldn’t do that. He’s delayed, that’s all.
He has … team things to do. Bao buns and sushi to eat.
Probably a beer to drink, and he has to trade jerseys with the Italians or whatever it is they do.
The All Blacks had won, to nobody’s surprise, but mainly, she’d watched Zane.
Like, yes, a schoolgirl with a crush. He hadn’t been skipper, but he’d led the haka, and seeing him do it in person, his feet stamping, his thighs bulging in those tight shorts, his hand slapping an enormous bicep …
Let’s just say that she apparently didn’t need estrogen cream yet.
And then he hadn’t come.
She looked at her watch, and it said five past eleven. She turned to check the doors, and there he was at the host stand. Except that he didn’t leave the host stand. Then there were two blokes talking to him. What, were they asking for his autograph?
Finally, she thought, This is ridiculous, and headed over there.
He was looking at her now, at least, but blinking in what looked like shock.
Oh. He hadn’t expected the makeover. She wasn’t used to it yet herself.
She kept wanting to tug at the weird “twist-front” top, which still felt like you’d put it on wrong, and her face felt a bit claggy under all the makeup.
“Hi,” he finally said, so that was an improvement.
“Hi,” she said brightly. It came out more like a shout, though, and he blinked again.
“Uh …” she said. “I have a table. If you still want a drink.”
“Yeh,” he said. “Let’s do that.”
When they were seated at the little table, he indicated her empty glass and asked, “What were you drinking?”
“Oh,” she said. “Can’t remember. It wasn’t as good as the ones you choose. I wasn’t—” She stopped. Insecurity was not attractive. She smiled brilliantly—she hoped—and said, “If you’ll choose for me, I’d quite like another one.”
He looked at her more keenly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” Another bright smile. “OK, I’m a little nervous. But really nothing.”
“Huh.” He gave her some more stare. “I’ll go see what they’ve got. Back soon. You put that on a tab, I hope.”
“Oh, uh … no. I didn’t think of it.”
“Uh-huh. Did it have the word ‘house’ before it? As in, ‘house red’? Never mind, I know the answer. I’ll buy you an actual glass of wine this time.”
“They’re closing soon,” she said. “In about twenty minutes.”
“Then,” he said, “we have twenty minutes. After which we’ll take whatever’s left to our room. And Skylar?”
“Yes?”
He smiled. “You can relax now. I’ve got this. I promise.”
He came back to the table two minutes later and said, “You changed how you look.”
“Yes. It was a makeover. Well, a makeup makeover, and then my friend Jess took me shopping, as I don’t really have many date clothes.”
“So was that outfit your idea? Or hers?”
“Hers. You don’t like it? I wasn’t sure either, but it’s in style. Which I wasn’t before.”
“No, I don’t. Since you ask. And I think you should wear what you like, not what somebody else tells you to like.”
“How do you know I don’t like it?” She was getting some kind of spark back, at least. This was embarrassing, but it was also a major relief to be able to talk about it and know she’d hear the truth.
“Because you’ve been fiddling with that weird thing at the front of the shirt for the past five minutes. What is that? Why can’t they just do a regular top? Shows your arms, and that’s good, and a bit of cleavage, too, but it’s bloody odd.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She practically put her head on the table. She certainly wanted to. “Because I hate this outfit. The pattern looks like my Gran’s sofa, except that my Gran had better taste.”
“Well, I didn’t want to say.” He was smiling, though. “It’s all the flowers. The huge flowers. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t on the trousers, too. Blinding, is what that is. What happened to your jeans?”
“Out of style. I told you. It’s all wide legs now. I have new jeans, too. They’re called ‘barrel leg.’”
He made a face. “Has any man ever told a woman, ‘I wish you’d wear jeans with legs shaped like barrels?’ If it was what you liked, I’d have rolled with it. Somehow. But if it’s not what you like …”
“I look stupid,” she said. “Finlay said I looked stupid, too, because the kids came with me to do the makeover and the shopping and so forth. They weren’t happy about it, but what else could I do?
If you ask them about it, I’m sure they’ll tell you that taking your kids clothes shopping is basically child abuse.
Olive sat on the floor and read her book, but the boys?
Not their best day ever. And this outfit …
It’s just so patterned. Florals are in, Jess said.
The saleslady said. Everybody said. Well, florals are fine!
Just not ones that look like curtain fabric in some granny’s too-fussy house.
I have a yellow dress with little flowers and a floaty skirt that’s actually quite pretty, but again, dresses are meant to be looser-fitting now, and below the knee.
That was Jess’s first idea for Date Night, but I said I looked like an Amish woman taking her first steps out into mainstream society.
They’re like housedresses, all sort of long and baggy.
Oh, the hideousness. It’s all either that or the ‘body-con’ thing, where I wear something that’s like elastic bandages and would require rigorous dieting.
Or the kind of shapewear that you’d never get off me, if you were planning on taking anything off me.
If wearing this … curtain fabric hasn’t put you right off. ”
He was smiling all the way now, his craggy face dissolving into all those real-man lines that made her knees go a little weak.
He was getting a black eye, and she wanted to kiss around it.
He was bruised, he was battered, and for some odd reason, all she wanted to do was put her hands all over him. Also her mouth.
He didn’t say anything about that. Probably put off by the enormous flowers. What he said was, “Is that makeup what you like, too?”
“No,” she said, and couldn’t help the vehemence. “I don’t even look like myself.”
A fella from the bar brought the wine over at that point.
She wanted to be sophisticated. Possibly clink her glass against Zane’s and give him a meaningful look from over the rim.
Instead, she grabbed it, took a drink, and said, “Tastes so much better. I’m not going to ask how much it cost. OK, I’m losing the heavy makeup the second we get into the room.
Imagine me slipping into something more comfortable, please, while I do it.
Think sexy thoughts. And what about the hair?
Go on and tell me. I actually thought the hair looked quite nice, but as we’ve seen, I apparently have no ability to discern. ”
“You looked like a regular person before,” he said. “I’m not good with these kinds of words, but that’s what I thought. Soft. Pretty. Sexy. But, yeh, the hair’s good. I like how it’s piled up, but still got all the curls. Not so … fussy.”
“Oh, good,” she said. “Because that was the easiest part. Everything’s just so different out there than it was any time I was paying attention.
I hope you like my undies better than the rest of it.
I only bought one set, because money, and the other clothes were on sale, so …
” He was drinking his wine, too—it was bloody wonderful wine, and the second glass was definitely going to her head, this late at night.
“Wait,” she realized. “The clothes were on sale. I thought, because this outfit wasn’t the worst …
There was one set that was all black with huge curving white lines all over it.
I can’t even describe it. You think this pattern’s big?
That one was so much bigger. But do you think that it was on sale because nobody wanted it, even though it’s meant to be fashionable? ”
“Probably,” he said, “because I can’t see any other reason for that thing to be on a hanger anywhere.
Also, sorry, but when you’re as fit as you are, I want to see that, not all those …
patterns. My favorite is the red shirt and jeans.
You wore that to breakfast in Hamilton, and then you wore it again for that family tea you made at the house. I wanted to jump you both times.”
She sighed. “I like you so much. Here I’ve been, shopping for this stuff, spending too much on it and feeling like I’m missing the plot entirely. I think I’ll return the barrel-leg jeans, as they still have tags on.”
“Take me next time,” he said. “I’ll do better.”
“You do not want to go shopping with me.” She was laughing, finally, and it felt so good. “Also, you were brilliant tonight, and you look …” She sighed. “You look like what I want.”
“Well,” he said, “that’s good, because so do you.
Once we get the curtains off you. Which I’m more than ready to do.
” They were both laughing now. “And it took me a wee while to sit down with you because I’m wearing the wrong clothes.
I was meant to wear a jacket, and my jeans are too wide.
Or too out of style. Or something. Not ‘dressy’ enough, I’m told. ”
“It could be the black eye,” she said.
“Nah. That just makes me look dashing. And is this enough chat not to feel like a hookup? As odd as this conversation has been, I still seem to want to jump your bones. How about going downstairs and letting me do it? I played a rugby match tonight and all. I could deserve to see some sexy undies. Wait, though. Please tell me the new look in undies isn’t granny panties. ”
“You’ll never know,” she said, “until you find out for yourself.” She was wearing the wrong clothes.
She was wearing too much makeup. And still, she looked at him over the rim of her wine glass and gave him her best secret smile, because somehow, she did know how to do that. “Why don’t you come and do it?”