KEPT_ A Second Chance Fairy Tale(50)

Dillon’s bike is parked next to her chair. Her neighbor, Stella, has her front window open. Going by what Corbin told me about her sweet, but nosy neighbor, it’s highly likely she’s been anticipating my arrival. I find I’m right when her curtains move to the side and the little woman, smiling wide and wearing a robe, knowingly waves.

I wave back before knocking.

“It’s about time you got here!” Lucy breathes out, grabbing my hand and pulling me inside. “The back of my dress is twisted. Oh god, I’m a mess.”

No, she isn’t.

“She’s a mess,” Dillon concurs from the couch as I walk into her apartment and take notice of the state it’s in. He turns in the direction of the door, getting on his knees and leaning over the back of the couch. “Where are you going?”

“I told you, buddy,” Lucy answers. “To a dance.”

He looks at his mother momentarily, taking in the same dress I can’t stop looking at. “You’re gonna dance in that?” he questions, pointing directly at her. “When you dance around the house, you do it crazy.”

“Dillon,” she snaps.

“You spin and stuff. Your arms go like this.” He raises his hands over his head and moves them around.

I hide my amusement. Lucy rushes to him, then bends to get in his face. I hear whispering before he goes quiet, still smiling.

“Well, you do,” he mumbles before turning around and looking back at the television.

Lucy turns, finally giving me a good look at her from the front. The black dress she’s wearing isn’t what captures my attention. Her legs are bare, naked in every sense, as the skirt fits tightly against her thighs. Sheer, lace material flows in the back and along her sides. Though beautiful, the dress isn’t the attraction. It’s her fucking shoes I can’t tear my eyes from.

“You’re wearing those later,” I choke out, trying to hold my composure in front of a child. “Jesus Christ.”

The high-heeled silver stilettos fit her perfectly, and not only in the physical sense. They shine in the dim light of her living room, and also add four inches to her frame. I’m feeling not so unlike a teenager, being as I can’t get the image of taking her here and now out of my head.

If only we were alone…

I walk past her and into the living room.

“How’s it going?” I ask Dillon, standing at his side and leaning my hip into the couch.

He turns and, rather than answer, states, “I asked Mom when you could take me to another game.”

Baseball’s gotten to him. Good.

I remember being his age and liking all sports, but baseball was always my favorite. If we’re able to go, it won’t be the seats we had before, but judging by Dillon’s reaction, it’s fair to say he won’t mind.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply.

“Mom says since I cleaned my room, I can stay up late and finish watching the game.”

“Nice.”

When he finally gets his mind on something else other than the game, he takes a closer look at what I’m wearing.

“Are you dancing tonight, too?”

“No,” I respond emphatically, and I’m not. I don’t dance.

He eyes me with suspicion before getting up and walking to a bag across the room. He grabs it and heads to Lucy, who’s messing with her dress.

“Be good. Don’t give Stella a hard time,” she scolds before he has a chance to say goodbye.

I remember this as a kid, as well. I always wondered why everyone thought I was up to no good. Even if it were true.

“See you tomorrow, Dillon,” I say, as she bends to hug him close.

Lucy finishes telling him the rules for tonight, then stands on the porch and watches him make his way to Stella’s.

I hear the click of the front door and turn around to see her standing there, alone. “You look…amazing,” she whispers. “I should change. Wear something else.”

God, but the woman is confusing. “What?”

“You look…” She points up and down as I stand in a typical, but tailored, tux. “I don’t come close.”

“Lucy,” I whisper. My head tilts to the side as I think of ways to reason with her. “When I said you’re wearing those later, I meant to say you’ll be wearing those and nothing else.”

I bite my tongue to avoid saying more as the visualization strikes her.

“Oh.”

“You look stunning.”

And she does.

Her hair is up and off her shoulders, a few soft curls hanging down. The top of her black dress covers the front of her completely. Had she not rushed me in here like she did, I could’ve gotten a better look at the back.

“Help me?” she asks, turning around as though reading my mind. “The bottom is twisted, I think. The silver–”

“Stop talking,” I hiss. Once fully seeing what the back looks like, I frown to myself. “Christ, she’s going to incite a riot.”

“What?” she questions, turning her head just as my hand touches the top of her ass in order to fix where she’s pointing.

“I take it back,” I say quickly. “You’re wearing the dress and the shoes to bed.”

Lucy giggles, but I’m having a hard time finding this shit funny.

Leaning down and snatching her purse from the small table near the door, she tells me, “Well, I’m ready then.”

I wish I were.




“There’s Jane,” I lean down from behind Lucy and point.

“It’s tacky to talk to her about my personal matters here, Michael,” Lucy smarts off while fidgeting with the back of her dress.

“You don’t have to talk to her about anything tonight.”

“I need a drink,” she states, turning to look up at me. When I don’t move, considering tonight not being a good time for her to indulge, she prods. “Like, now.”

Obviously, Lucy still isn’t fully on board with letting Jane handle Margret. Because this is so obvious, I concede, “All right. Corbin’s at the bar. I’ll tag him to stay with you.”

“You do that,” she mumbles.

Clearly still not overjoyed.

Fighting my way through the crowd, I don’t look back to ensure Lucy stayed in place because there’s no reason to. I already know she won’t.

“Fuck, it’s about time you two showed up,” Corbin comments louder than necessary. He reaches out, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in for an unusually long man hug.

“You’re already drinking,” I observe. “You’ll be spent before the end of the night if you keep at those,” I tell him, nodding to his nearly empty glass of brown liquor.

Corbin winces, then says, “Right, and coming from you, any advice is good?”

Corbin’s upset about something. “What are you talking about?”

“You told Lucy I knew about her mother-in-law. She called me this morning. Early. She was pissed.”

Laughing, although I don’t mean to offend him, I ask, “That’s what’s got you so worked up?”

“She told me she was disappointed in me. I hate that word. I heard it enough growing up and, coming from her, it just hurts my feelings,” he pouts.

Slapping his shoulder, I encourage, “Lucy will be fine. Take her this.” I hand him a glass of white wine and point in her direction. “Keep her company. I’m going to go find Jane and let her know about Lucy.”

Corbin accepts the glass. “Lucy sober. Lucy tipsy. Is there a difference?”

Smiling, I push on his shoulder. “Not much of one, I guess.”

“Don’t leave me alone with her for long,” he tells me before walking away. “Who knows what else she’s up to.”




Lucy

“Don’t want to hear it, Corbin. You lied. Omitting things which you know affect me is as good as lying directly to my face.”

“Christ,” he murmurs. “How does Michael put up with you?”

“Splendidly.” I lick my lips, and his eyes narrow.

I realize my actions slip too much when he responds, “You’re omitting what’s going on with you and Michael, and when I find out what that is, you’ll be apologizing to me for lying.”

He’s right, but I don’t let on. Not without Michael here.

Where is he?

“When I finish this drink, you’re going to dance with me,” I tell Corbin.

“I don’t dance, Lucy.”

“Good,” I smart back, happy about his response. “It’ll be your way of apologizing to me then.”

Pulling on the cuff of his tuxedo, he tests it with discomfort, then asks, “Where’s Michael?”

Looking around again, I point to where he’s chatting with Jane. “He’s discussing what you should’ve discussed with me.”

Clearly, I’ve flustered Corbin. He grabs my wine glass, throws it back in one gulp, and hands me the empty.

“I’ll get you another,” he says, turning around and walking away. He’s so easy to rattle, it’s not nearly as fun anymore.

I stand alone, looking up at the twinkling lights of the chandeliers above. I take in the vast, open space filled with slow music, quiet laughter, and cordial conversation. The room is set in soft light, and several candelabras of different shapes and sizes have been used to soften the mood just as much.