I can’t say with any certainty how I make this decision, but before I know it I am standing at my neighbor Chrissie’s door in my robe, praying she’ll help me out.
“Hannah?” she asks when the door opens, and I pull a face in apology.
“I have a date.” There, I’ve said it. “I need something besides office grandma to wear, and I don’t have anything even close to it in my closet.”
Chrissie is the cutest woman I have laid eyes on, ever. Her deep red hair hangs all the way to her butt in a straight sheen that I envy, her periwinkle eyes glow, and her freckled face reminds me of Meg Ryan, if she ever dyed her hair that shocking shade.
I like her because she understands me, most days, anyway, and doesn’t give me crap for being so full of vinegar most of the time.
“Come on in, Han. I’ve got exactly the dress for you. I bought it at this vintage store because I couldn’t resist it even though it’s way too big for my small boobs. Now I know why,” she says, grinning as she pulls me into the apartment and her bedroom.
Where my place is perfectly ordered and decorated in creams and beiges, Chrissie’s is a profusion of color and clutter. The dress she pulls from the closet is a deep blue that is almost black, so tight it fits me like a second skin until it hits my knees, and the neckline is low, held up by thin straps that cross at my back.
It’s beautiful and classy and definitely the sexiest dress I’ve ever worn. I know once Gregory Lucas sees me all bets are off. He’ll only intensify his pursuit, and…I like the idea more than I should.
“Well damn, Han. You’re lucky I’m as straight as an arrow, or you’d be in some serious trouble, girl,” she says, letting out a loud wolf whistle.
I giggle and turn in a circle, striking a sexy pose to blow her a kiss.
When I’m leaving I realize this person wearing the dress and matching heels is the exact person I’ve spent the last three years trying to get rid of.
Now’s the time for second thoughts. If I’m honest, and I try always to be honest with myself, I’m not as averse to the idea of being the old, carefree me as I would have been even a week ago.
In the past I was happy and carefree and spontaneous. I was the girl who’d dance in the rain just because she could and win a tequila shooter contest because she loves winning, and having a good time even more.
What I’ve done to survive my messy divorce and bitterness is turn myself into someone I never imagined I could be.
It’s not bad, it’s just unsatisfying.
You say that now because your hormones have you dancing on clouds. What happens when Mr Billionaire has his fill of you and kicks you to the curb just like Tom did?
I don’t get the chance to answer my question because there’s a knock at the door, and a second later, as I open it, I am staring at Gregory Lucas, looking particularly yummy in dark trousers and a light blue shirt. He’s a little more casual than I am used to, but I cannot deny his appeal.
“Hello, Hannah. You look…” He leaves the sentence hanging, but I am gratified at the deeply appreciative look that lights his eyes as he gives me a slow, thorough inspection.
“Thank you.”
“Shall we go?” he asks, taking my elbow and pulling the door closed behind me.
We ride the elevator in silence because I am nervous and because he’s so busy undressing me with his eyes it’s a wonder my clothes don’t evaporate from my burning skin.
“Stop that,” I hiss, pulling at the skirt of my dress in discomfort.
I feel great, but the dress fits my butt so snugly I feel exposed and slightly vulnerable.
“I can’t help it. You look like a pin-up, with the nicest ass I’ve had the pleasure of seeing,” he says heatedly, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to throw myself at him.
When we exit my building it’s to the sight of a gleaming sliver Mercedes.
“Nice car.”
“Why thank you, Hannah, I try to please.”
My nerves jump at the passionate suggestion in that statement, but I ignore what my body wants and decide not to take his bait so readily.
“I’ll bet. Does that line usually work?”
He laughs as he hands me into the car and jogs around to his side.
“I wouldn’t know, as I’ve never used it before. You tell me.”
The smirk that pulls at my lips is all wry humor.
“I don’t know yet. Ask me at the end of the night.”
“Oh, I will, darlin’, you can bet on it.”
“Where are we going?”
I need to change the subject before his hot glances make me combust like a pathetic, sex-starved fool, even though I know, and from his smirk he knows too, that I am retreating before the round has begun. He allows it without a blink and turns the car into traffic.