Page 16 of Forgot to Tell You Something

“To the concert?”

“No. To the dentist. Of course, to the concert.”

I don’t want to admit that I’ve tried on several outfits, particularly not when she may have spent the night with Owen. “I was going to wear jeans and a t-shirt.” Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I can still accessorize, so I fit the scene. Plus, I won’t look like I’m trying too hard. Or at all.

“No dice. Wear a dress and show off that body. You need to look smoking hot tonight, Lu.”

I shoot the phone a curious glance. Why in the world is Stefani upping my sex appeal for a man she likes? “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Wear your red dress. You look amazing in it,” Stefani prattles on, ignoring my question.

I stifle a laugh as I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the full-length mirror. My friend knows me well, and she’s right. I love the way the lipstick red swing dress hugs my curves. Besides, it’s fun, flirty, and short enough that it doesn’t hide my leg ink. “I actually have it on now.”

“Keep it on! Wear some sexy underwear, too.”

What the hell? “Why?”

“Just in case you have a Marilyn moment, and your skirt flies up...or someone makes your skirt fly up.”

My friend is still drunk. Either that, or she’s high on something. “The pink wig doesn’t go with the dress.”

“Ditch the wig. You want to showcase your natural beauty.”

“What if Owen thinks it’s too much?”

“He won’t. Trust me.”

She’s right. This outing is strictly platonic. Besides, I’ll hardly look out of place dressed in rockabilly gear at a rockabilly concert. “I’ll take your word for it. Will I see you tonight?”

“Hell, no. I couldn’t care less about Hedgecore. Besides, tonight is about you, Lu. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She ends the call with a kiss into the receiver, as I shake my head in confusion.

“I’m nervous, Hecate.”

My cat, for her part, yawns, looking mildly amused at my plight.

“I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am. I like this guy, and I’m not sure how cool I can play it tonight.”

Hecate lifts her hind leg and begins grooming, a sure sign she’s signed off this conversation.

“Thanks for your help, cat,” I mutter.

* * *

Owen is on my doorstep at eight o’clock sharp. Talk about punctuality. He must be former military because most men run on a timeline of their own design.

With a deep breath, I pull open the door, my heart catching in my throat.

I was mistaken last night when I thought Owen was gorgeous. He’s so far beyond that, I don’t think they’ve invented a word to describe his appeal. A tight black shirt hugs every inch of muscle, his lower half encased in a pair of dark denim. His head is freshly shaved and his beard newly trimmed, and I want to jump him and rip every stitch of clothing from his body. In his hands is a bouquet of lilies, the most impressive blend of pinks and oranges I’ve ever seen.

“Hi,” I manage, leaning against the door frame as I gape up at him.

I swear his eyes light up when he sees me. I must be imagining things. “Wow. I like the dark.”

“Huh? Oh, my hair. That was a wig last night.”

“This,” he motions up and down my body, “is beautiful. Wow, Tally.”

He’s repeating himself. Maybe he’s nervous, too. Likely afraid I’ll give him an inquisition about his escapades the night before.

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