My grip on her hand tightens as we start walking again. I’m suddenly no longer dreading my evening. Having Emma with me will make it bearable, and hopefully enough to keep Willow’s googly-eyes in her head where they firmly belong.
When we finally reach her car, my agitation is gone. In a few short hours, I’ll get to see her again. I only hope not disclosing our destination beforehand doesn’t backfire in my face.
My gut tells me she’s not going to be happy, but the selfish part of me pushes those thoughts to the back of mind.
Chapter Fourteen
EMMA
Sighing, I slip into another dress. I shouldn’t have agreed to this. After this morning, I’ve been feeling all kinds of messed up. Ashton somehow managed to get me to open up, without even probing. Carla is the only living soul I’ve told that story to, and it wasn’t in the same detail. Even when I hit my absolute rock bottom, I only shared snippets of that night and the aftermath with my father and my therapist. Some of the memories are just too hard to relive.
“How does this one look?” I ask Carla as she lays on my bed watching me change for the umpteenth time. Usually, when I go out, I don’t give my outfits a second thought.
But he’s not Carla.
It’s Ashton Barclay—also known as sex on a stick.
“It looks just as good as your last six,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Although I did like the last one better.”
Ashton’s not picking me up until five thirty, so I have a few hours for primping—exfoliate, trim, shave, and moisturize. Not that tonight is going to be anything more than dinner between two friends, but I still plan to do the whole routine.
Lifting the dress in question, I hold it up in front of me. It’s a pastel floral print with large pink hibiscus flowers taking up most of the design. The long-sleeved A-line, wraparound maxi dress stops mid-thigh, tying at the side to taper in my waist. The low neckline shows off a hint of cleavage—it’s feminine with a dash of sexy.
“Yep, I think your right, Car. I’m going to go with this one. I can wear my pink wedged heels with it.”
“Finally,” she says, rising from the bed. “For a guy you claim not to like, you’re going to an awful lot of trouble to look nice for him.”
Bitch.
“Whatever.”
She laughs as she walks toward the door. “You should totally fuck him tonight.”
“Not happening.”
“Of course, it’s not.” She gives me a knowing look as she pauses in the doorway. “Text me when you get out of the shower, and I’ll come back and do your hair and makeup.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I grab my pink lace bra and some clean cotton underwear from my drawer—they have tiny cupcakes with sprinkles on them. What I lack on the bottom half, I make up for on the top. All my bras are pretty, and even sexy.
As I’m heading toward the bathroom, my phone dings.
Dumping my things on the basin, I head to the kitchen to retrieve my phone from where it’s charging. I immediately smile when I see the message is from Ashton.
My ridiculously hot friend: What color clothing are you wearing tonight, sweet-thing?
That’s a random question to ask.
Sweet-thing: Why? You’re not thinking of matching, are you? Because that would be weird.
My ridiculously hot friend: Hardly! I’m just curious.
Sweet-thing: I haven’t decided what I’m wearing yet.
It’s a lie, but I don’t want him to think I’m eager for our non-date.
My ridiculously hot friend: Come on, Em. You’re a girl, and girls seem to know this shit days in advance.
Sweet-thing: Considering you only asked me out to dinner a few hours ago, that’s kind of impossible, wouldn’t you say?
My ridiculously hot friend: True. But can you at least give me an idea?
Sweet-thing: Ugh. Something pinkish.
My ridiculously hot friend: Something pinkish it is. I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight.
I’m looking forward to seeing him too.
Sweet-thing: I’ll be ready when you get here.
Why can’t I just say what I truly feel?
I’ve spent so many years guarding my heart, I don’t know any other way.
I’m a bundle of nerves by the time five thirty rolls around. When the knock on the door comes, I take a quick stock of myself in the mirror before answering. Carla did a great job prettying me up. My long hair is down, the soft curls cascading over my shoulders. My makeup is light, and the pink lipstick matches my shoes. I hope Ashton likes what I’m wearing.
My hands smooth over the soft silky fabric of my dress before I grab the pink clutch Carla lent me. Once I shove my phone, lipstick, and some money inside, I head toward the door.
The butterflies in my stomach take flight as my trembling hand reaches for the handle. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out with a man—or anything that slightly resembles a date—yet, I can’t remember ever feeling so jittery.
Ashton’s sparkling sapphire blue eyes lock with mine the moment I open the door. My breath catches in my throat as a sexy smile curves onto his gorgeous face. His gaze travels down the length of my body, taking in my appearance. “Em,” he breathes as his attention lingers on my bare legs.
“Does this look okay?”
His eyes snap back to mine. “You look beautiful… really beautiful. Good enough to eat.”
My stomach does a flip-flop at his words. “Thank you. You look nice, too.”
Ashton’s dressed smart, yet casual, in white designer jeans and a button-down top that fits snuggly against his broad chest. It’s paired with a light blue blazer, which makes his eyes pop. He looks like he’s just stepped off a runway.
I resist the urge to lick my lips.
He looks good enough to eat too.
Stepping forward, he invades my personal space. The delicious scent of his expensive cologne envelops me.
My body ignites when his lips lightly brush with mine. “This is for you,” he says as he withdraws back a step, bringing his hand around from behind him.
I suck in a huge gulp of air when my eyes lock on the small clear box resting in his palm. “Oh my God, Ashton.” Tears sting my eyes. He’s brought me a corsage. Because Kyle Sanders didn’t think enough of me to do the same. “I—”
His finger comes up to rest against my mouth. “You deserve all the pretty things, Em.”
“It’s beautiful… I… I’m so touched.”
“You don’t have to wear it, just know the sentiment is there.”
“No, I want to wear it,” I say, extending my arm out in front of me. “It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. And the first time anyone has given me flowers.”
“It’s a first for me, too,” he says, chuckling. “I’ve never bought flowers for a woman before. That’s if you discount the ones my assistant sends my mother every year on her birthday.” The fact that I’m the first woman outside of his mother to get flowers from him pleases me. A lot. “These, though, I picked out myself. You deserve all the pretty things, Em.”