Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)(19)
“Alex—” Ivy began, but Alex shook her head and brushed past her, walking toward her bedroom. On her bed were no fewer than ten outfits.
Alex hated them all on sight. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered as Ivy came into the room behind her.
“Alex—” her sister began again.
“Just tell me what to wear. I can’t decide.”
“Alex.” Ivy turned her so they faced each other. “Come on, talk to me.”
“I am talking.”
“What was that in the bathroom?”
“Me putting on my makeup?”
Ivy was losing patience. “Look, if I believed for one second that you meant what you said, that you don’t want romance, I’d leave you alone. But I don’t believe you. Not at all. Because you love to love, Alex. And you love to be loved. And you deserve it. You deserve it all.”
Shit, the burning in her eyes was starting again. Alex didn’t have another pair of fake eyelashes, so she was going to be pissed if her sister made her ruin them. She lifted her chin. “You love me. Violet loves me.”
“Everyone loves you,” Ivy shot back. “That’s not the point.”
Alex looked away, her voice dropping with her bravado. “Can we please not talk about this right now?”
“I hate him,” Ivy said viciously, and now Alex’s nose started to tingle. “I hate him so much and if he was here right now, I think I’d castrate him.”
That made Alex smile. Because although Robby was a big man, hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Dawn. She met her sister’s gaze. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now promise me you’ll take this seriously, that you’ll have a good time.”
“I will.”
“And that you . . . let yourself be open to more.”
Alex shook her head. “I can’t do that. He doesn’t live here, Ivy. This isn’t . . . this isn’t what this is. We both know, and we’re both okay with that. Someday, Ivy, someday maybe I’ll find someone.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “But it won’t be this man.” Even as she said the words, she could hear Spencer’s voice in her ear, his hands on her skin. She could feel his eyes on her body, his surly tone in her ear when she teased him about washers.
“Okay, you go ahead and believe that while smiling that dopey grin while you’re thinking about him.” Ivy crossed her arms over her chest.
Alex immediately slackened her face muscles. “I did not have a dopey grin!”
“You totally did.”
“I have never done anything that could be described as dopey in my life, and that includes grinning,” Alex huffed.
A laugh burst out of Ivy’s lips and then they were both doubled over bracing themselves on the bed and sufficiently wrinkling several of Alex’s outfits. When they composed themselves, Alex gestured to the bed. “Seriously, will you please just tell me what to wear?”
Ivy glanced at the bed and shook her head. “None of those.”
“What? I don’t have—”
“I work at a damn consignment store that has tons of high-ticket dresses, you dumbass.” She led Alex out of the bathroom. “Please step into my—um, your—living room to select your clothing for the evening.”
While Alex had been applying her makeup, Ivy must have brought in clothes, because they were draped all over her living room, hanging from the trim on the doorways, off doorknobs—dresses and skirts and tops in fabrics and styles Alex had never worn in her life.
She stood in her living room in her underwear, turning as she took in all that Ivy had brought. “Wow.”
“By the way, I’m liking the, uh . . . ” Ivy gestured toward Alex’s black lace set.
“Yeah? I like it too.”
“But you still have to wear clothes.”
“Unfortunately.”
It took a good hour, but they settled on the simplest dress Ivy had brought. It was a dark purple—aubergine, Ivy had said—and it fit Alex perfectly. The top was tight and low cut, showing a substantial amount of cleavage, and the way it flared out from her hips down to her midthighs made her waist look tiny.
They tied a thin black belt around her waist, and Ivy pulled a pair of black peep-toe heels from one of the new pairs Alex had bought.
Alex turned slowly, eyeing herself in the full-length mirror that Ivy had dragged out into the living room. “Wow, I look . . . ”
“Beautiful,” Ivy whispered.
Alex bit her lip. “But it’s so different from me.”
“You said you wanted different, right?” Ivy frowned.
“Yes, I know that’s what I said, but . . . ”
“Do you want to try on something else?”
Alex shook her head and took a deep breath. It was okay. What was wrong with dressing a little differently? She was still Alex.
As Ivy gathered the clothes she’d brought to take back with her, Alex fiddled with the hem of her dress, wondering if she actually knew who the real Alex was anymore.
She wanted to rip off her clothes and put on her jeans and a stained T-shirt and boots. But Spencer had asked for a date, and surely he’d take her out somewhere ultra fancy and posh, and hell if she was going to embarrass him.
By the time Ivy left, after ensuring a phone call from Alex after the date, Alex had beat herself up so completely, she wondered if the bruises were visible on the outside.
She’d never cared before how she dressed for a date. She was who she was and screw any man who didn’t like it. So why was she trying so hard to impress this one? And why the hell did that mean dressing like some other woman?
Someone like Penny.
But then the doorbell rang and she didn’t have time to change. She pulled out her lucky lipstick, the one she wore every day, and slicked it on her lips. At least when she looked in the mirror, she’d recognize her face.
And then she walked to the door, wobbling a little on the heels and cursing herself for not practicing walking in these damn things.
Because the last thing she needed was to fall flat on her face on this date.
Then she took a deep breath, placed her hand on the doorknob, and turned it.
AT FIRST, SPENCER thought he had the wrong apartment.
The woman in front of him was a vision in high heels and purple.
But then those blue eyes blinked at him, the ones he couldn’t get out of his head. And those full red lips parted, the ones he couldn’t forget kissing.
The woman in front of him was Alex but . . . not. She was in a dress that accentuated every single curve—and she had a lot—and her heels made her legs look longer than normal.
He wanted to say fuck the date, grab her and wrap those legs around his waist, feel those heels digging into his ass—
“Spencer?”
He snapped out of it, realizing he hadn’t said a word to her as she stood in front of him, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. He cleared his throat. “Alex, you look . . . gorgeous.”
She shook her head and looked away, and without thought, he reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging it so she took a step toward him. Her breasts brushed the front of his shirt as she blinked up at him.
He cupped her neck. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
Her cheeks reddened and she licked her lips. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Compared with her, he was way underdressed. He glanced down at his jeans and plain button-down shirt. “Um, maybe I should change . . . ”
She rolled her eyes. “No, I just”—more fidgeting—“don’t dress up much so I thought, why not?”
“Erm, yes,” he stammered. “Well, you should dress up more, because it suits you.” Her eyes widened and he held out his hands. “I mean, no, that came out wrong. You don’t have to dress up. Or dress, um, any differently than you want to. You look gorgeous in your jeans and shirts too.”
Alex’s face was tight. “Well, thank you.”
This date was going to hell already. “Uh, well, how about we get going?”
She nodded and grabbed a purse, then shut the door behind her.
They stood awkwardly outside her door and he wondered what he should do. Hug her? Kiss her? But this was a date and he was trying to be a gentleman.
So instead he placed a hand on her shoulder and led her to his car.
The same car they’d screwed on.
Bloody hell.
He went to open the door for her, but she pulled on the handle before he could get there, so he stopped short and watched her fold herself into the car. Then he sat in the driver’s side and turned the ignition. “So, I had to ask around for a place to take you. I thought . . . I thought of some place I thought you’d like. So, um, I hope you do.”
She was watching him, her hands gripping her thighs. “Okay.”
The car ride was silent except for the radio. There was no playful conversation or smiles or lustful looks. Hell, Spencer didn’t remember how to make small talk anymore. He knew how to talk business and he knew how to fuck, and right now neither was appropriate.
“How’s work?” he asked, the two words sounding dumb even to him.
“Uh, good,” Alex said, her gaze on her lap. “I’m training a new guy and he’s . . . yeah it’s good.”
Silence again.
And Spencer was relieved because the empty words were worse than the silence.
When they pulled into Bomer’s Burgers half an hour later, Alex sucked in a breath, staring at the neon sign.