She thinks for a second. “Well, nobody ever said supermodels were great in bed or anything.”
I sit up and shoot her a look that says, Nice try. “But they’re so tall,” I say, standing and moving to the mirror, eyeing myself. “He’s almost a foot taller than me.”
“Supermodels are bony.”
I chew on my lip and think. “Yeah, that’s valid.” I am pretty curvy for being so tiny. I check out my butt in the mirror. “What am I going to wear?” I ask, scanning the clock as I sit back down and pull up my Pinterest account. Typing date with billionaire into the search engine does not pull up anything useful. Humph.
“Did he say where you’re going?”
“No. He just said he’d pick me up at seven. And I left there without his phone number.”
“You could always call Finn and ask him for it,” Chloe suggests impishly while tearing open a package of Animal Crackers, immediately dunking one into a tub of Nutella.
I wrinkle my nose. “Ugh. That stuff is disgusting.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she retorts and pops another one in her mouth.
“I think I do. I’ve tasted it. And it’s nasty,” I tell her as my phone chirps. It’s a text. From Sawyer.
Dress warm. Casual. Jeans are good.
“Son of a bitch. He does have my number.”
Chloe claps her hands and grins. “This is better than movie night!” she squeals, then holds up the Nutella. “I should put this away and pop some popcorn.”
I thought you said you didn’t have my number.
Let’s see what he has to say about that.
I said you never gave it to me, not that I didn’t have it.
Aren’t you clever.
And wear the boots I sent. They’ll look good later wrapped around my neck.
I don’t respond to that.
“Chloe, is it slutty that I kinda want to skip this date and go straight back to his place for sex?”
“Do you care if it’s slutty?”
“Just on principle.”
She pops another Nutella-covered Animal Cracker in her mouth while she thinks, holding up a finger to indicate she’s gonna give this some serious thought. I pull out my nail polish and survey my options. Aha! Perfect. It’s red and its name is Size Matters. How can I get a job naming nail polish colors? I’d be so good at it. I mean, I really understand the importance of the right polish name. It absolutely sets the mood of an entire outfit.
“It’s a little bit slutty.” Chloe’s finished chewing and has given me her verdict. “You really should buy him dinner first.”
I nod. “That’s fair.” I pull on my favorite jeans and then survey my choices before pulling on a sweater over a lacy camisole. He said casual. This one is the perfect chocolate brown and makes my eyes pop, and the lace camisole peeps out of the bottom. Perfect. The weather is nice for early December and the snow that was threatening earlier today never materialized. I’ve got a cute camel-colored pea coat that will complement the sweater, in case I want to leave it unbuttoned. Finally, I pull out the Louboutin box from under the bed. He did specify that I should wear them after all, and I’m a very accommodating girl. Most of the time. Hardly ever.
I use a fat curling iron to add a few big waves to my hair and then complete my makeup with smoky eyes and dark, chocolatey-red lipstick. He’s definitely going to want to skip dinner when he sees me, I decide, looking myself over before I head out.
At five to seven I tell Chloe I’m going down to the lobby to wait for him and she groans.
“He’s not coming upstairs? I was gonna take pictures,” she jokes, holding up her phone. “Maybe I’ll just come down with you and grab a few before you go.” She pretends like she’s getting off the bed, making a big production out of it.
“Zip it, roomie. I’ll see you later.”
“By later, you mean tomorrow?”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
Twenty-Six
Sawyer is waiting for me when I get downstairs. He’s leaning against the wall with the mailboxes, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed while he surveys the hustle and bustle in the lobby. Based on his expression I’d say he’s amused. There are a couple of guys lounging on the sofas, tossing a basketball between them. Two different pizza delivery drivers waiting for students to meet them in the lobby to collect their orders. A couple having an argument near the elevators. And at least four girls who are eyeing the fuck out of him.
I see him before he sees me. I use the time to take him in. He’s painfully good-looking. He’s changed since I saw him this afternoon. The suit is gone, replaced with faded denim jeans and a grey v-neck sweater, the collar of a white button-down shirt appearing underneath. His dark hair is tousled, as if he showered after work and just ran his hands through it while it dried. I cannot wait to get my hands on that hair. I know it must be as thick as it looks, and I’m a bit fascinated with the barely-there wave. It’ll definitely be something to hold on to later.