Girl Crush(8)

“Aww, Giselle. You don’t need to take wine to a man. He’ll expect you to put out regardless. Save your money.”

I snickered. “True, but I offered. How about a spicy red?” I had no idea whether Beck liked red or white, nor what we were having for dinner, so I went for what tickled my fancy.

“Young lady, is that the message you want to send?” Only a seventy-year-old woman could consider another in her late thirties—we shall not use the dreaded F-word—a young lady.

“Absolutely. So, what do you recommend?”

She shook her head before leading me over to her first pick. “How about a pinot noir? Flowers Sea View Ridge is nice. It’s from a vineyard in Sonoma Valley.”

I quickly glanced at the price. Beck seemed like a nice girl, but I wasn’t spending seventy-five dollars on a bottle of wine I had to share. “How about something a little less…spicy?”

The elderly lady giggled at my innuendo before taking me farther down the aisle. “A Syrah should do the trick at half the price.”

I took the red she’d suggested and grabbed a bottle of sambuca on my way out. I’d had far too much time to think about Ronnie’s advice and concluded she was right. A shot or two would help me loosen up. I downed one when I walked in my front door and put a couple more in a flask to partake of before ringing Beck’s bell.

When I looked in the mirror, I was impressed with my reflection staring back at me. I’d decided appearing carefree would help ease my anxiety. If I weren’t concerned with my attire or my hair, then I could focus on other things—like not stabbing myself with a fork accidentally or knocking over red wine on her white carpet. I didn’t even know if she had carpet much less what color it was, but in my mind, it was a plausible scenario I wanted to avoid.

I’d stopped by the mall and talked to my favorite Sephora rep and tried to describe the gorgeous lip color Beck had worn the night we’d met, and while she couldn’t tell me with a hundred percent certainty what it was, she’d sold me what appeared to be a close match. I’d debated between shades of Bare and Undressed and decided to purchase them both. If nothing else, “Lippie Lingerie” had made my evening—God, I loved makeup. My mouth rivaled that of any porn star—prior to them sucking someone off—and when I wiped my hand across it, the color didn’t budge. No lip prints would be left on a wineglass or napkin…or anywhere else tonight. I grinned as I thought about my first sexual encounter with another woman. It still seemed so taboo and racy, but that might be the sambuca worming its way into my blood stream.

The second shot I took as I left the house in my dark, skinny jeans and embellished tee with pull-on ankle boots set the mood. A smile tugged on the corners of my mouth while I drove to Beck’s. I couldn’t believe the palatial mansion I pulled up to. I’d driven with the top down and my hair piled up on my head, and my glasses still sat on my face when I stepped out of the Camaro. A gorgeous, red Porsche 911 sat in the circular driveway, and I wasn’t sure which I was more intrigued by—the car or the house. Both were stunning, but since the 911 was closest, I stopped to drool before going in.

With the neck of the wine bottle in my hand, I tilted my glasses up to my forehead and circled the car like it was my prey. The brand-new Carrera was completely tricked out with every available option including the Carmine Red premium paint job. Someone had dropped a mint on this ride. I peered into the window, making sure not to actually touch them—fingerprints would be so tacky.

“Hey. Can I help you?”

I spun around so fast my glasses fell, covering my eyes, and I just about lost my balance. I barely had time to take in the man who must own the car now standing in front of me. “Oh, um. Hi.” I stuck my free hand out in front of me. “I’m Giselle.”

He didn’t bother to shake my hand, but he certainly stared at it like I might be carrying the bubonic plague. “Ah. My sister’s date. She’s inside.” Short and to the point…a man of few words.

“Nice car.”

“I know.”

Either this guy was the biggest prick that ever lived, or he’d had a really bad day. Either way, he wasn’t interested in small talk, even if it included stroking his ego. He stepped around me without so much as a pat on the ass and waited for me to move.

“I’m sorry.” I dropped my hand to my side and got out of his way.

He took off like a bat out of hell, leaving tire marks on the cobblestone. I’d be pissed if I were Beck. With her brother gone, I took in all that was Beck’s house. She’d indicated she worked in marketing, but I had no idea it was such a lucrative business. After the encounter with another douchebag male, I opted for one more shot before knocking on the door. I felt like a boozer one step away from rehab turning up the bottle in her driveway. Not enough that I didn’t do it, but the thought crossed my mind just the same.

By the time my knuckles met the wood at her entryway, I’d forgotten about the dude with the car, and his memory had been replaced by nervous butterflies threatening to take flight in my stomach. When Beck answered the door, my mouth fell open, and what had been an abundance of saliva, dried up into the Sahara Desert. Apparently, I hadn’t understood what dinner meant or had missed the memo on just how casual this affair was. As I stood, jeans and a fancy T-shirt was overdressed. Clothes at all appeared to be optional.