Page 41 of Penthouse Prince
Gail smiles. “No problem. She was a perfect angel.”
In a tone that pretends to be innocent but is blatantly laden with meaning, Mom says, “Seems like you care a lot about that girl.”
Downplaying it, I shrug. “She needed help, so I helped. It was just the decent thing to do. Stop reading so much into every random detail of what happens between me and Corrigan.”
Mom coolly raises her eyebrows. “Yes, helping is decent, and I’m proud I raised a good boy who doesn’t think twice about it. But if it were anyone else, would you have immediately dropped everything and rushed over like you just did? Or would you have just paid for a repairman to go out and handle it?”
Her words knock the wind out of me. I protest weakly, “Maybe I would’ve for a total stranger, but there’s a big difference between a stranger and what you’re insinuating. I’d do the same for Dak or any other friend.”
But we both know Mom sees straight through me. Although her logic doesn’t hold up, her intuition is spot-on.
There’s no arguing with her or with myself. I’m in so far over my head, it isn’t even funny.15* * *CORRIGANOuch!
I drop my curling iron into the sink with a clatter, shaking out my hand to cool off the burn. When was the last time I did my hair, and why did I think I could pull off these loose waves without a tutorial? Those are two questions I may never have the answer to.
One thing I do know for sure, though. Tonight is the night the pale yellow wedges I impulse-bought last summer come out of their hiding spot in the back of the closet. Why? Because for the first time in half an eternity, I have a date. And just because my day began with a zapped car battery and an emergency rescue mission from my ex-slash-boss doesn’t mean it can’t end on a higher note.
I pick up the curling iron again, sectioning off a portion of hair and wrapping it around the barrel. But when I pull the iron away, it looks like someone tried to feed my hair through a jammed copy machine. Awesome.
So much for looking like a ten tonight. I guess I’ll just have to pull out my straightener to get myself back on track. If only that track was heading toward Lex’s place for pizza night with Grier, not toward a mediocre Italian place with a guy I hardly know.
Before my flat iron has warmed up to a usable temperature, my phone buzzes with a calendar reminder. Just thirty minutes until I’m supposed to be at the restaurant.
I finish my hair and take another glance in the full-length mirror. The white sundress falls to my knees, and I straighten it over my hips. With a sweep of pink lip gloss and a final shot of hairspray, my confidence is renewed.
I’m Corrigan freaking Stewart, and tonight, I’m throwing out my usual first-grade teacher vibes for full-on first-date bombshell. I’m ready to stop thinking about my history with Lex and start writing a brand-new story with someone new. And I think Keagan just might be the guy for the job.
For starters, we have a ton in common. We’re both teachers and . . . okay, that’s actually the end of the list so far. But that’s because I’ve never interacted with him outside of school. Tonight, that’s all going to change. We’re going to get a couple of eleven-dollar pasta entrees, split a bottle of wine, and totally hit it off. I can just feel it. This is the start of something completely new for me.
I arrive at the restaurant at six o’clock sharp, but thanks to an incredibly chaotic parking lot, it’s a few minutes after six by the time I finally step through the doors. The date-night crowd is out in full force tonight, with just about every table spoken for. If Keagan is here already, I won’t be able to spot him among the masses.
“Reservation under Keagan Anderson?” I ask the hostess, drumming my fingers nervously against my clutch. “I’m not sure if he’s here yet.”
“That’s me!” a voice that’s louder than seems appropriate shouts over the ambient music.
I snap my head in its direction, locking eyes with my date. He’s tucked away at a small table next to the kitchen.
The hostess gives me a sweet, almost apologetic smile before leading me to our table, where Keagan is waiting with a bottle of wine and a bread basket that, by the looks of it, he’s already combed through for all the good rolls.
“Hey there, Corrie. Nice of you to finally show up.”
I cringe at that absolute no-go of a nickname, but before I can correct him, he jumps to his feet, maneuvering around the table to pull me into an ill-advised side hug. Suddenly, this feels less like a date and more like dinner with a coworker.
