“And when you say college fun, you really mean all the nerdy and embarrassing things we still do today.”
I place a bite of pancakes in my mouth. “Precisely.”
“Lia, you ready?” Breaker asks, knocking on the door.
I check myself one more time in the mirror and make sure everything is in place.
Let’s be real for a second. I’m not one who often goes all out when it comes to gussying up. I prefer minimal makeup because I don’t like how it cakes on my glasses. I don’t curl my hair often, and if I have a choice between jean shorts and a dress, I always choose jean shorts, but tonight, I felt the need to . . . spice it up.
I know what you’re thinking. It’s because Birdy is so pretty, right?
Well, you would be wrong. Birdy has nothing to do with this. I thought I would try to match the level of gorgeousness of my ring.
I know you don’t believe me, but that’s the reason, the ring. Not Birdy and her beautiful long blond hair or her long black eyelashes or the fact that she has such a nice pair of boobs that mine look like corn nuts in comparison.
This is all about the ring.
I smooth my hand down my purple tube dress that just so happens to match my glasses. It also accentuates my curves—what little curves I have. I spent an hour curling my hair, and then I brushed out the curls because that was what the girl on the YouTube tutorial told me to do, and she was right. It’s made my hair all wavy and pretty. And my makeup, well, I made sure to highlight my eyes with mascara and then put on a subtle lipstick that wouldn’t clash with my dress, more accentuate it.
I’m pretty sure Brian is not going to recognize me. Maybe this is a good thing, spice things up before we get married and show him exactly what he’s hitching himself to.
Clutch in hand, I open my front door and nearly choke on my own saliva as Breaker comes into view.
This is . . . this is not the Breaker I know, who wears old junky Jack Skellington T-shirts and backward hats because he’s too lazy to worry about his hair.
This is a different Breaker.
Sophisticated.
Date Breaker.
Wearing a pinstripe gray suit and deep black button-up with the top few buttons undone, he looks so freaking good, like he belongs in a magazine. His pants are tight around his thighs but loosen up around his calves and ankles where the fabric stops. He’s wearing loafers with no socks, and his hair is styled to the side in a messy way, giving him a sultry look that I wasn’t expecting. And that tan chest, peeking out through the buttons of his shirt, so easily reveals the slightest hint of corded muscle that identifies him as a man who spends a great deal of time in the gym.
His suit fits him like a glove, not an inch to spare of fabric.
Handsome.
Sexy.
Arousing.
All the adjectives that come to mind.
“Wow, Lia,” he says, taking me in and pulling on the back of his neck. “Shit, you look really good.”
I’m snapped back into reality as I glance down at my dress and black high heels and then back up at him. “Oh, thank you. I, uh, I thought I would match the fanciness of my ring.” I hold it out to show him as if he hasn’t seen it before. “See? Fancy. And I’m fancy. We’re all fancy.”
His brow creases. “You okay?”
“Yes, great. Thank you. Just telling you I’m fancy.”
He chuckles. “All right, well, glad we established that.” He holds his arm out for me. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah, of course. So ready. Never been more ready. Just the most ready, so let’s get this show on the road.”
“You’re being weird,” he says as I lock up and then walk arm in arm with him toward the elevator.
Maybe because you look really good.
And smell nice.
And have a sense of suave circling you that I wasn’t prepared to see.
“No, I’m not. Can’t a friend just tell another friend how fancy they feel? Is that a crime?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but I can google it if you want me to.”
I take a deep breath and step onto the elevator with him. His cologne’s so heavy that it makes me feel dizzy in an odd, perplexing way.
I’ve never seen him like this because he’s always been secretive about who he takes out, how he dates, and everything about his sexual life. Whenever I’ve asked before, he’s been blasé about it, not diving too deep, never showing emotion or interest in the topic. But seeing him like this, it’s all so different.
“Why have you always been secretive?” I nearly shout.