Screwmates(18)

He figured it out first. “I should be home early, though. Maybe I’ll catch you on the couch?”

Another round of jitters that I tried and likely failed to cover.

“I’ll be around.”

As soon as he was gone, I shifted into high freak-out gear. I showered (and yes, I used the last of the cucumber rose bubbles) and shaved in all the places that a sexy lady is supposed to shave. That taken care of, I had to figure out my clothing. What did one wear to a seduction, anyway?

A Google search directed me to negligees and super supportive underwear, the kind that pushed a woman’s breasts up and together making a B-cup girl seem like she had a Jessica Rabbit-quality rack. The closest thing I had to supportive was my Wonder Woman sleepwear. The panties were simple blue boy shorts with white stars, but the tank top that had a built-in bra that made the girls look quite perky.

It was utterly perfect, because Wonder Woman is second just behind Princess Leia for sex appeal. It’s science.

The only question was to wear the accompanying cape or not.

In the end, I decided no, but only because it wouldn’t lie very well beneath the rest of the outfit I’d chosen. As for that, I was lucky enough to find a burgundy wrap dress that Scarlet had once left in my closet. It was maybe a little fancy for couch night but it was a far less intrusive alternative to a trench coat. Not that I owned one of those either, but.

Okay, fine, it was either the dress or a bathrobe. The dress seemed like the better choice, even though I could have worn the cape with the bathrobe. Next time, I told myself.

I gave myself a blowout that was an absolute failure, but that’s why God invented flatirons, so the day was saved. Then I finished my look with a touch of mascara and some clear lip gloss. Then I ruined it by eating a PB and J. Then I put it back on. Nailing that seduction already.

I checked the time. It was still early so, on a whim, I rushed to Booze4Less and headed directly to the wine. Again, I was overwhelmed with my variety of choices. One panic decision and thirty dollars later, I left the store with a single bottle of rosé. But it was actually rosé this time and not the white zin boxed blend I once got tipsy on with Scarlet in eighth grade at her cousin’s quincea?era, so.

Upgrade!

Next, I ran by Target and picked up a couple of wine glasses. Nothing fancy, and, in fact, they might have actually been water glasses. The point was, they had stems.

Back at the house, I stuck the wine in the fridge and was in the middle of washing our new glasses when Marc walked in the door.

“You’re home,” I said as he walked into the kitchen carrying a box of leftovers and, ha ha, a bottle of wine. Note to self: don’t get drunk and trip over anything.

“I would have been—” He cut himself off sharply when I stepped out from behind the island. “You look. You look really nice.”

My breath got trapped somewhere in my chest and it took me a second before I could answer.

“Oh, this old thing?” The dress was actually practically brand new. Lizzie had maybe worn it once before deciding it revealed too much cleavage for a mother to wear to work. “Thanks. I’ll try not to dribble wine on it.”

I turned back to the sink so he wouldn’t see how flushed his compliment had made me.

He held up the wine. “Truce! As I was saying, I would have been home earlier, but I decided to stop and pick up a bottle.”

I opened the fridge and gestured toward the rosé. “I had the same thought.”

We both laughed awkwardly.

Actually, the thought I’d had was more like how to achieve the old bow chicka wow. The wine had just been a means to an end. Loosen those inhibitions. Finally make the leap from roommate to screwmate.

Wait.

Was that what Marc meant by bringing wine too?

Oh snap. The butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in my tummy since Hot Marc walked in began a choreographed dance.

“We can start with yours. This one needs to chill.” He walked toward me.

“I just put mine in too. So.” I held the door open for him as he bent down to put his bottle in the fridge.

“It can wait then.” He took the door from me to shut it, leaving us standing barely a foot apart. The heat between us was like a wall, as though we’d had a hot oven open instead of the refrigerator.

“You bought wine glasses,” he said, noticing the stemware drying on the counter.

At the same time, my eye had caught on the white adhesive covering his nine stiches. “You haven’t removed your bandage yet.”

My gaze wandered down and discovered his caramel-brown eyes on mine. Oh, hi. And much like the candy, I felt like I was stuck in his stare.

“I did,” I said. “Got them at Target. On sale, even. Not clearance, exactly, but one of those weird sales where just everything in one aisle is like, fifteen percent off…” I was rambling. The words. They were just wandering out of my mouth with no direction from me.

“Nice.” He rubbed a hand absently over his bandage. “The doctor said twenty-four hours. I still have—” he looked at his watch, “two hours left.”

That wasn’t going to work. If everything went as planned, we’d be dazed in post-coital bliss at that time.

Pulling myself away from him, I headed to the kitchen table. “Taking it off a couple of hours early shouldn’t make a big difference, Mr. Rule-Follower.” I pulled out a chair and slapped my hand on the seat. That required bending down and giving him an eyeful of cleavage. So, so seductive. “Sit. I’ll help you with it.”