ever wear makeup. Probably samples, or gifts from my mother in her many, never-ending attempts to make me more of a lady and get me married off, as society women with daughters are wont to do.
Sorry Mother, I’d rather follow in Hollis’s footsteps and take my own path—even if there’s a small pit stop along the way, even if I have to work for the family for however long it takes to find my dream job.
My skin is glowing.
My lips are stained a sultry red and look surprisingly plump.
Thanks to the straightener, my hair is a bit sleeker now, the strands shiny and glossy.
I give myself one more cursory glance in the mirror before flipping off the bathroom light and popping into my closet one last time to grab a black, quilted handbag before the doorbell rings.
I slow my pace so I don’t sprint to the door, purposely taking my sweet time. Tripp can wait.
My eyes widen when I pull the door open, expecting plaid and khaki and possibly a stuffed ox jammed into one of his pockets. Maybe even a stocking cap atop his head to complete the look.
Not even close.
Tripp Wallace is…he’s…Tripp is…
…dressed up, kind of.
Dressed far better than he was for even his brother’s rehearsal dinner, but less dressy than he was at the wedding.
Expensive black button-down shirt, two top buttons left undone. Dark blue jeans. Dress shoes, shined to a polish.
Dear Lord, we match.
“You’re not wearing the Paul Bunyan getup.” My tone isn’t exactly accusatory, but I am disappointed and I’m sure it shows. If my mouth doesn’t say it, my eyebrows will…
We had a deal.
Plus, I would have paid to see him walk into that restaurant dressed like a bumpkin.
His dark eyes narrow. “You were serious about that?”
“Dead serious.” Mostly. My hand is still up on the doorjamb, barring his entry. “Maybe we should forget about this whole night since you reneged on your half of the bargain. I don’t know if I can trust you now.”
Especially considering this is the second time he’s lied—first about the sports car, now about the outfit he promised to wear. This man gives no fucks about anyone but himself.
I shoot my eyes into my brows defiantly. No sense in playing sweet and naïve now that he knows what I’m capable of—and it would serve him right for me to cancel on him.
He had one job—wear the outfit we agreed to—and in turn, I would come out with him for one drink.
I honestly did not think he would bail on the plan.
“But I’m hungry,” he says, as if that’s an entire argument for his case.
“We’re just getting drinks.”
“I mean, we could slip some food past the goalie.”
“I ate before I got dressed.”
That’s his cue to let his eyes rake me up and down, as if noticing for the first time that I have on heels and lipstick. Those eyes take in my hair, stray down to my cherry lips. Trail down to the deep V between my breasts.
I expect him to tell me I look nice. Or pretty.
Something.
After all, it’s the polite thing to do.
But he doesn’t.
Shocking.
Then again, I don’t compliment him either, even though he looks maddeningly handsome in his stark black shirt—which I suspect he already knows.
“I left the car running,” he tells me, looking down at the street where his—where Buzz’s car is parked, a sleek black Beemer with tinted windows and racing wheels.
“This isn’t a seedy neighborhood—no one is going to come steal it.”
He rolls his eyes. “Just lock up and let’s go.”
Wow, he is so bossy. Not even a little sweet talking. No manners. He really wasn’t kidding when he said this wasn’t a date; the man is a boorish caveman with no etiquette.
I watch as he bounds back down my stairs toward his brother’s vehicle and opens the passenger side door. He doesn’t wait next to it, just goes around to the driver’s side and slides in.
God I cannot wait to tell Hollis about this.
It’s no wonder the man is single.
He has no idea how to treat a woman.
I wonder how he’d treat me if he were interested…
I dash back into my new place, flipping off lights but leaving one on in the kitchen and entry hall, then pull the door shut. Let the automatic lock kick in before taking a key and inserting it to glide the deadbolt into place.
I don’t say a peep about this not being his car when I finally lower myself down into the passenger seat and press