I stare at the reflection in the mirror. Not bad. My hair is up, not by choice. Unfortunately someone didn’t pack my straightener, but that’s okay. My makeup is minimal, and I have an excited glow oozing out of me. I turn and look at my behind. Again, not bad. How I found a dress this nice in three minutes I’ll never know. It’s fitted and ruched with spaghetti straps and in the most beautiful mauve color. It’s not something I would have normally bought, but with one store to choose from and seven minutes to decide, it made the cut. I smile proudly. I kind of like it.
I take a deep steeling breath. This is it, the night I’ve been waiting for, and damn it, I just really want it to go well. I honestly believe we have something.
I put on a bright lipstick and cringe. Ew, I look like a stripper. I grab a tissue and wipe it off and put on another. “Gross.” I wipe that off, too, and finally decide on a natural gloss. “This will have to do.” I slide on my shoes: not the ones I would wear with this dress, but anyway . . . it is what it is. Christopher seems to like these shoes. He constantly gets them out for me to wear.
“Okay.” I close my eyes. “Please let this go well.”
I make my way down to the hotel restaurant and look around, and I spot him sitting at the bar. He turns at precisely the moment I see him and gives me the most beautiful broad smile as his eyes roam up and down my body.
I nervously make my way over to him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he purrs as he slides his hand around my behind and pulls me close to him. “You look fucking hot, Grumps.” He kisses me softly.
“Thanks.” I shrug, embarrassed. “Didn’t feel like wearing my wedding dress tonight.”
He chuckles. “Thank god.” He kisses me again as the air swirls between us. Screw the date—let’s just go back upstairs right now. “I got you a drink.”
I look down to see two margaritas on the bar. “My favorite,” I reply as I slide onto the stool beside him.
His eyes hold mine, his chin leaning on his hand as he smiles dreamily over at me. “You’re my favorite.”
I nervously sip my drink, not sure how to reply. “What are we eating?”
“I know what I’m eating.” His dark eyes hold mine.
Fuck.
“I mean food.”
He raises an eyebrow as if unimpressed and sips his drink. “I don’t know, we’ll just go for a walk, I guess. I didn’t even know the names of any restaurants around here.”
“Okay.” I pick up my drink and take a sip. “Hmm, heaven in a cup.” I smile.
“I had a particularly large margarita night when I went home in your honor.”
“You did?”
“Elliot and I got margarooted.”
I giggle. “Margarooted?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Tell me about Elliot.” I smile. “You two seem to be close.”
“Hmm, actually”—he thinks for a moment—“he’s a lot like you.”
“How so?”
“He’s a tragic romantic, grumpy. Reliable and loyal.”
I smile. “He is?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you have three brothers?”
“I do. Jameson is the oldest, Tristan is next, and Elliot, and then me.”
“You’re the youngest child?”
He nods.