One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3) - Amy Daws Page 0,6
anything better. I can’t even afford the rent here, honestly. I could barely afford the tiny downtown studio apartment I lived in after college. But with any luck, I’ll land a job with my new degree that’ll make it possible for me to stay after my grandmother’s lease ends in a few months.
I head upstairs to my bedroom and strip out of my clothes, ready to wash away the stench of French silk pie, the hospital cafeteria, and Dr. Dick. Hopping into the shower, I work in the shampoo and laugh as the image of that dollop of pie landing on his crotch replays in my mind. Picturing him walking around with a stain on his groin for the rest of the day made the whole unpleasant scene worth it. Maybe I have been living with Kate for too long.
After I step out of the shower and am toweling off, a text from Dean chimes on my phone.
Dean: What are you wearing?
Me: A towel.
Dean: Sexy. But I don’t mean now…I mean tonight.
Me: You are so metro.
Dean: Metro is the new macho. I like to coordinate, Lynsey. Just tell me what you’re wearing.
Me: I’m thinking my black skirt and that polka dot top.
Dean: The sheer one that makes you look like you’re wearing sprinkles on your tits?
Me: Yes.
Dean: Damn. You’re busting out the big guns tonight.
Me: I told you…I need to blow off some steam.
Dean: Noted…see you soon. xx
About an hour later, I’m taking one final look in the mirror, trying to decide if I’m ready. Dean was right when he said I’m going all out. Normally, I wouldn’t put so much thought into my outfit, but tonight is different. I want my outside to reflect what I feel inside. Accomplishment radiates through me now that my thesis is done, and I want to show that feeling off.
My black pencil skirt is high-waisted and stretchy and hugs my hips in a way that makes me feel like a Kardashian. I slipped a black silk camisole under my sheer long-sleeve colorful dot top and finished off the look with black wedge ankle boots. My long chestnut hair is curled in loose waves, and my brown eyes pop with the three coats of mascara I applied.
I slick a red matte stain across my lips and give myself a final once-over in the mirror.
Lookin’ good, girl.
I actually feel pretty…nay, beautiful. Like a woman on her way to getting her master’s and having a real, grown-up career. The world is mine, at last.
Tonight, I’m not the cute best friend who’s easily overlooked. After the way that jerk acted this afternoon, as if I was nothing more than a nuisance, I’m determined to dredge up some confidence.
I grab my single girl clutch that hasn’t seen the light of day in ages and make my way downstairs.
Dean’s eyes widen as he watches me descend the stairs, fumbling as he pockets his copy of my house key.
“Holy shit, Lyns. You look hot.” His voice is huskier than normal. A small thrill zips through me because one of my best friends is slightly flustered by my appearance.
“Thank you!” My heels clunk down the last few steps and over the pine flooring to the entryway table where I left my bigger bag I normally carry around. I eye him up and down, noting his dark brown hair is gelled back like a proper businessman. “You look pretty good yourself.”
Dean wears an artful hipster outfit, his shirt obviously tailored because it hugs his biceps and waist perfectly. Add that to his dark-framed eyeglasses, gray pencil tie, laced black boots, and cuffed jeans and nothing about Dean’s style is ever basic.
He props himself on the wall as I transfer my wallet from my day purse to my sparkly clutch. I look up to see Dean inspecting my entire body.
“Remind me why we ever stopped dating again,” he asks, his voice low and suggestive.
I exhale and shake my head with a girlish giggle. “Because you weren’t good enough for me.”
Dean flattens himself against the door and mimics the motion of a knife piercing his chest. “Don’t say that, Lynsey. I’m a changed man.”
I hit him with an unamused look. “You are a mountain manwhore who just two hours ago asked me to be your wingman.”
“That was before I knew how hot you’d look tonight.” His flirtatious smile would be butterfly-inducing if I still liked him in that way. “You know I’d come crawling back to you in a heartbeat—say the word.”