Which is why I can’t let this cross into anything romantic. I’m not the man she deserves. I’m trying to be. I’m not quite there yet.
“Holy shit! Look at you! You are hot as fuck!”
The voice comes from Charlie, who I didn’t know walked into the boutique, Cullen in tow. Though my nephew doesn’t stay by his mom’s side for very long as he makes a beeline back to the fitting room.
His running only stops when he crashes into Paige’s leg. Her bare leg.
Fuck, how short is that dress?
Paige is standing in front of her fitting room, arms crossed over her stomach like she’s trying to shield herself. Though I don’t know why. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. The gold and silver dress, which is made entirely of sequins, fits like Kelly sewed it especially for her. The deep V in the front doesn’t reveal anything scandalous, yet leaves nothing to the imagination.
In short, she’s fucking gorgeous. And it’s a good thing I’m sitting down.
“Miss Blackstone! Is that you? You aren’t wearing your school clothes. You are so pretty! You look like a princess!”
She is the sexiest princess I have ever seen.
Thank God for my nephew, because his words relax her, as she uncrosses her arms and kneels to his level to talk to him. I can’t help but stare at her, the easy smile she gives him as he compliments her dress and tells her all about his upcoming weekend.
However, the view allows me to see the hint of cleavage coming from the top of her dress. I stand and force myself to look away, not wanting any more inappropriate thoughts going through my head, as well as any involuntary bodily reactions.
Though I realize that might not have been the best thing to do either.
“You know you are allowed to ask her out, right?” Charlie says, teasing me.
“I’m barely a month into my separation. I have no business asking out a woman. Plus, aren’t you the one who told me that if I tried anything with her that you’d do things to my body that I’m pretty sure the CIA only teaches ten people?”
“I did, and I’m glad you listened,” she said, not making eye contact with me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel every word she is saying. “She would be good for you. I’m also proud of you for not jumping into something. This new you… I like him.”
Charlie gives me a playful nudge with her shoulder and I smile, still taking in the sight of Paige, who stands up, letting me take in the dress again in its entirety.
Fuck…
Standing up was definitely not a good idea.
Chapter Twenty-One
Paige
Who is this person? This person has my eyes. My nose. The small birthmark on my neck just under my ear.
As I look at this woman in the mirror, I’m confused. There’s no way it can be me. I’ve been sitting in this chair for hours, getting my makeup and hair done by a girl with a rainbow mohawk and gauged ears. I never went to prom, and I rarely go to a salon, so I figured that I’d look like a clown when she was done with me.
As I look at my reflection, I have to remind myself that this person is me.
I’m… I’m beautiful. Those are two words I’ve never said about myself in all of my thirty years. But right now? I can’t think of any other way to describe myself.
I’ve never thought of myself as ugly, and I’ve never really had problems with self-esteem, but worrying about my looks or making sure I was up on the latest makeup trends was always the furthest thing from my mind. I had too much else to worry about growing up—mainly making sure that my mother wasn’t drunk, high, or dead in a ditch somewhere.
“What do you think?” the stylist asks, giving my hair, which is styled into perfect waves, a final spray. I look closer at the makeup. I felt her applying it, but looking in the mirror right now, you can barely tell it’s there.
“I think you did an amazing job. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“It’s easy when you start with such a beautiful model. Knock ’em dead, hun,” she says as she walks away, giving me a small hug before heading over to the next person, who I’m sure has been peer pressured by Kelly or Boomer to model today.
Or maybe I’m the only one they had to convince. Because who wouldn’t want to put on a beautiful dress, get pampered, and raise money?
Me. That’s who. Because even after my fitting, and the rehearsal on Friday, Kelly still had to bribe me with pastries and wine to do this. I told her I’d be much better suited organizing the models backstage. That idea was shot down when she told me that she ran backstage. I then offered to help serve the champagne. Then she told me that the men did that, dressed in tuxedos.
And that is what Garrett would be doing.
I’ve been thinking about Garrett in a tux since she mentioned that, and as I slip on the dress that I’ll be modeling soon, the image takes over my mind once again. I bet he looks amazing, like a modern, real-life version of James Bond. I hope it’s a tuxedo with the suspenders. There’s something about the image of a man who takes off his jacket, only to reveal suspenders that I drool over.
I shake away the thought, and the urge to go see Garrett in action. The luncheon started about an hour ago and it’s taking all the power I have not to go sneak a peek of him.
I’m with the other models behind a curtain backstage who are getting primped and dressed to show off the dresses that Kelly designs and her store sells. It’s a great fundraiser. We model the dresses to the women who have been drinking their weight in champagne all morning, served by attractive men in tuxedos, which apparently, according to Kelly, only makes them want even more of the bubbly. With their inhibitions slightly skewed, they bid on the dresses with all profits going to a local cancer charity. From what Garrett said, each year the fundraiser not only raises thousands of dollars, but it also gives Kelly’s boutique an added boost of business.
I’d love it even more if I wasn’t worried about falling on my face in front of hundreds of women, most I’m sure I’ve had their children in school. I mean, come on, I teach kindergarten. I don’t wear high heels. Especially ones that are approaching four inches.
“Why do you look like you are about to walk in front of a firing squad?” Charlie asks. I must admit, having her back here helps. A little.
“Because I think I am. Why do I have to wear stilettos? Can’t I wear a sensible pair of flats? I’ve seen pictures of celebrities wearing old school Keds with ballgowns, after all.”
“Absolutely fucking not. You are going to make every woman out there jealous as hell that you look like a fucking model. You are also going to make Garrett’s tongue hang out of his mouth.”
I blush as she says the words. The thought might have popped into my head, Garrett getting to see me like this, but I quickly pushed it away. What’s the point in fantasizing about that? I know for a fact that Garrett doesn’t see me in that way. Plus, we are friends. He needs a friend, and I’m determined to be that person for him.
Even if I’m dying a small death right now not getting to see him in a tuxedo.
“I’m… that’s not the point of today. I’m here for Kelly. And Boomer. I just wish I could do it in shoes a few stories closer to the ground.” I turn away from Charlie, pretending to check my lipstick in a nearby mirror.