Ladies Man (Manwhore #4)(7)

“I would be happy to go to your place and do your face.”

“That would be a dream! Nobody knows my face better than you. How’s tonight at seven?”

“I get out at six, so seven works.”

I’m relieved to have extra work. It’ll keep my mind off…last night. And it’ll help me pay my rent until my lease is up and I have to move. I write down her address and tell her I’ll be there when my shift is over.



*



It isn’t until I’m on my way to Darynda’s place that I recognize the address. She lives in the exact same building Tahoe does. I can’t help but feel a little bit nervous as I walk into the lobby. I’ve been here before, with Rachel and Wynn. Never alone. All I remember of his apartment is that it was too big for just one person. And somehow when I think of him, I always imagine him on the living room couch where I last saw him, watching a White Sox game with a White Sox cap and a White Sox shirt.

I board the elevator and press Mrs. Kessler’s floor when I’m joined by two girls, both of them young and beautiful, who tell the elevator man who stands discreetly by the corner that they are going to HIS floor. He nods and slips in an access card.

“I could just die,” one tells the other as the doors shut.

“God, I know. Is my hair okay?”

“Your hair is great. How about my makeup?”

I try not to judge her by her makeup, but it’s hard not to when she’s overdone her eyes so much. I shouldn’t judge her. Our makeup is our mask. Good makeup can hide tired eyes, even sad eyes; nobody will ever know. Still, she looks beautiful, and I have to fight to keep myself from thinking this is why he turned down your birthday present.

My floor comes first, and they’re still fixing their hair with the excitement of women who know they’re seeing a very hot man whom they clearly want to see again and again.

I remember the last time I was in his apartment.

We were watching the White Sox game.

He’s one of the most devoted fans I’ve ever seen. He was rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans as he watched the game, yelling at the top of his lungs when they won. I laughed because it was funny, and then he looked at me and smirked. And then…he started to look at me the way he’d been looking at the TV, intensely.

Saint and Rachel left, Wynn gave me the eye signal that we should leave too. Tahoe made some signal to Callan, and soon Callan was striking up a conversation with Wynn, and Tahoe asked if he could show me something.

He led me to a massive room with all kinds of sports memorabilia.

“Wow.”

Signed balls from the White Sox filled one shelf, while lacrosse gear spanned the opposite wall.

“You’re a lacrosse fan?”

“I played in high school, college. I still play twice a month.”

The blond beast was entirely too focused on me. He was killing me with that damn dimple.

“I’ve never watched lacrosse, not really.”

“You should come to a game.”

God, that dimple.

I started to hate that tiny hole in his cheek, though it felt so nice to have it trained on me that my toes were tingling.

“Sure,” I said, with a shrug. “I’ll go.”

He’s texted me twice a month every time there’s a game: Game tonight. Come see me.

Or



Lax game tonight. I need some luck lady.



Or



Lax game. Kicking ass tonight, you’ll enjoy it.



And I always make up some lame excuse.



*



I got home ready for bed, but didn’t rest one bit. A night of no sleep really helps with the soul searching. By the time I wake up, I’m determined to call Wynn and ask her for Trent’s number.

When Paul broke up with me, I never thought it possible to miss another human being like I missed him. I don’t ever want to feel like that again. But I’m ready to move on. I want to give myself another chance.

Rachel and I, we always said we were the smart girls, the girls who know what guys really want from you. It’s hard to stick to this belief when both of my friends have found true love. It’s hard not to consider that maybeeee…just maybe…I can find it too.

I leave Wynn a message and head to work. I’ve felt…discontent ever since I came back from Rachel’s wedding. Restless.

I’m questioning everything, what needs to stay and what I want to change in my life. And the more I question, the more I realize that what I want to change is—me.

So I try to soften; softer eyes, softer blush. I work on my face for the first half hour of my shift, since usually store hours are slower in the morning.

I brush a shimmery light pink Bobbi Brown shadow on my lids, a pale blush across my cheeks and a soft gloss on my lips. I finish, happy and curious to see my new look, but the girl who stares back at me has too big brown eyes, too soft pale skin, and looks too vulnerable, too young, and too innocent, like a girl fresh out of college. Which I guess I am….

Why did I end up at a cosmetics counter?

Because of Paul.

Because I couldn’t get over being broken up with while at my worst, with a toothbrush in my mouth. It’s the reason I never leave home without makeup. It comes on the second after I brush my teeth.