Quarter Mile Hearts(40)

With her gone, I wander around the house; I’ve got some time before I need to get ready. In the kitchen, I pull a beer out of the fridge and pop the lid off, tipping it back to take a long drink. The house is too quiet so I grab another bottle of beer and my iPad and head upstairs to get ready. With some Bruno Mars playing in the background, I start to get ready. For once, I take the time to dry my hair instead of pulling it back off my face as I usually do. I dig my make-up out of my bag and apply it with more care and attention than ever before. Usually, I wear very little.

Happy with the results, I step back and suspiciously eye the garment holder that is hooked over my door. It looks innocent enough, but when I unzip it and pull out the dress, I choke. Half of it is missing! But then Beth is much shorter than me, so of course, one of her dresses is going to be too short for me. I hold the dress up against my body and turn to the mirror; my face says it all.

Fuck.

I’m running out of time, and I have no option but to put it on. Plus, if I don't wear it, Beth will have a fit, and I do not want to piss her off tonight. It wouldn't be wise to aggravate her.

I pull out the only nice panties I own—not that anyone will be seeing them—but I'm hoping it will give me a confident boost and make me feel better about wearing a short ass dress. Now for the moment of truth.

How short is this dress going to be?

I slip on the black sequin dress that dips into a sharp v at the back, which means I can’t wear a bra, and a cowl neck at the front. It doesn't actually show too much cleavage, which is a first for Beth. But I'm more worried about the length. The dress stops mid-thigh and I make a mental note not to bend over all night or pretty much do anything other than stand upright. The sleeves come past my elbows and I think it makes the dress classier.

Last of all, I slip my feet in the heels that Beth has left for me. Black patent slingbacks with a peep toe that are impossibly high. It is only because I'm used to wearing boots with high heels that I know how to walk in them, but even then, it's touch and go in places.

My foot has just hit the bottom step when the doorbell rings. A quick glance at the clock says he's right on time. When I pull open the door, the cocky smile that seems to always grace Max’s face falters, quickly dropping into a frown, and then a deep scowl as his eyebrows pinch tightly together.

“Part of your dress is missing.” He stares at my bare legs before his eyes start to slowly travel north.

“Sadly, this is the length it's supposed to be. Although, I'm sure it's longer on Beth.”

“Why are you wearing one of Beth's dresses?” He can’t take his eyes off the hemline. At least he’s not staring at my chest.

“Because I don't own one.” I turn and close the door, locking it and dropping the key into my little bag, again courtesy of Beth.

“Holy fuck, Leigh, you can't go out like that!” Max bursts out, and I turn back to see him staring at me, wide eyes.

“What now?”

“There’s no back. Don't you have a trench coat you can wear, a parka, anything?” I laugh at how ridiculous he's being.

“As long as I don’t bend over, I'm fine.”

Letting out a loud groan, he drops his head into his hands. “Did you have to go there? Seriously don't talk about you bending over in that dress or ever. I can’t deal with the mental image that conjures up.”

My mouth hangs open at the look of torment on his face.

“I might have a blanket in the trunk.” He steps off the step, but my hand catches his forearm and the electricity that crackles between us stops him in his tracks and shocked eyes meet mine.

Yeah, that really has to stop happening. It scares the crap out of me every time.

“Let's just go and keep your eyes up here.” I click my fingers above the shoulders. But his eyes darken as his gaze moves upwards. My cheeks flush when I see the desire brimming in their depths and the shiver that rips through me is at odds with the heat raging inside me

Max’s hand rests at the base of my spine as he navigates our way down the path to his car. The tingles running up my spine are making my head spin, and I don't think the two beers I had in the house helped. Max holds open the door, his manners taking me by surprise.

“Thank you,” I mumble and maneuver myself into the car as best I can without my dress riding up. In spite of the care I take, I still manage to flash a large amount of leg and hear a groan before the door slams.

Slack-jawed, I watch him jog around the front of his GTO, dark jeans hug his powerful thighs and tight ass, which I never tire of looking at while he works. His white button up shirt is pushed up to his elbows, snug over his shoulders and biceps. Splashes of color punctuate the black swirls of his tattoos.