Would I still hate kissing as much as I did if Neil was the one kissing me?
I wasn’t so sure.
All I knew was I didn’t despise the idea the way I did when I thought about kissing anyone else.
I’d just showered, but I still needed to find something to wear. Day to day, I never gave much thought to dressing up fancy, mainly because I spent most of my time in my bedroom. Today was different, though. Some part of me yearned for Neil to look at me in the way he had over our last video call. I wanted to see the flushed cheeks paired with the flash of heat in his dark brown eyes.
For once, I regretted my wardrobe of comfortable yet stylish designer items. I didn’t own anything that would be considered “sexy.” But for the first time in a long time, I felt like wearing something that wasn’t three sizes too big.
Rifling through my wardrobe, I finally found a black skater dress that I hadn’t worn in forever. It was conservative since it had a high neckline and long sleeves down to the wrists, but it was also tight around the bosom before flaring out over the hips. I grabbed the dress, then found some purple tights and paired them with my red Converse. Next, I styled my hair into space buns, put on a little make-up as well as a pair of large gold hoop earrings, and I was ready to go.
I studied my reflection and smiled. Yes, this outfit would do nicely.
Sarita and Mabel were waiting in the living area when I emerged from my bedroom. They’d both agreed to help Michaela with the party, too. Sarita eyed me up and down.
“Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Afric?”
I put a hand on my hip. “I’m wearing a dress. What’s your problem?”
“No problem. I’m just wondering who you’ve dolled yourself up for,” she shot back. “Is Michael Sheen going to be at this party or something?”
“You leave Michael out of this. And no, he isn’t. I haven’t dolled myself up for anyone. It’s a party. I can hardly go in pyjamas.”
“Well, I think you look lovely,” Mabel said, shooting me a kind smile.
“Thank you, Mabel.”
Sarita blew out a breath. “Fine, keep your secrets. We’d better get going if we don’t want to be late.”
A little while later, Sarita, Mabel, and I entered the private rooftop bar in Shoreditch, where Isaac’s surprise party was being held. He was the newest and youngest member of Running on Air. Originally from South Africa, I read that the group had discovered him while filming one of the earlier seasons and subsequently recruited him to be on the show. I thought it was nice how they all welcomed him into the fold and threw him birthday parties even though he hadn’t been with them very long. Michaela always said that working on the show felt like being in a big family, and I sometimes felt a little jealous of that.
I was a dichotomy because I adored being alone, working for myself and answering to no one, but I also craved companionship.
Michaela was there to greet us when we arrived, though I didn’t spot Neil anywhere. She must’ve sensed I was searching for him because she shot me a secret smile and whispered, “He’s out back taking drinks inventory.”
I grinned and headed in the direction Michaela had pointed. There was a small hallway at the end of which appeared to be a stock room. I approached the threshold, and there he was. His back was turned to me as he held a clipboard and pen, scribbling down numbers while counting bottles of alcohol. I allowed myself a moment to take him in and also to admire his backside in the navy slacks he wore. Then, quite impulsively, I launched myself forward and wrapped my arms around his middle. A startled breath gushed out of him as he stiffened.
“Guess who?” I whispered, and he instantly relaxed. A deep, amused chuckle escaped him.
“Afric,” he said, still facing away from me. My name on his tongue sent a tingle down my spine. God, I really had it bad. “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he went on.
On instinct, I rested my head in the space between his surprisingly broad, firm shoulders. “Sorry. I was excited to see you. You smell amazing, by the way. What cologne are you wearing?”