Page 18 of The Player's Obsession

“Good to know. I love you,” I say in an attempt to ring off.

“Have fun, and text me later.”

We hang up. I hop in the shower. I can’t remember the last time I got dressed up for a date. There are some great restaurants in Camden Hills. Rumbay is located on the Strip. It’s the main drag lined with two miles of casinos. But the strip is tailored to those who have money to burn. It provides the locals with jobs but most of us can’t afford to go there for recreation. I’m told the food is outrageous. The venue is host to tons of business conferences and graduations for cadets from the nearby naval base.

In preparation for my date, I even shave my legs. Oh, my, winter is not kind. Living in long-legged yoga pants, sweatpants, and jeans is not sexy. I hope the dress still fits. I towel off from the shower and scrunch my hair with a towel to remove most of the water. I pull out mousse, squirt some into my palms, and rub it through my hair.

I am a practical person, and because I want my hair out of the way, it’s usually up. I had forgotten how long it takes to get ready for a date. The prep work alone would normally have me calling it off, but something about Oliver excites me. I can’t forget his handsome face, or the woodsy smell mixed with tobacco that wafts through the air when I’m near him.

I can picture him hanging out with the guys on his team sipping out of rock glasses as they smoke cigars. I can’t remember the last time I was close enough to a man to smell the scent he wears. I’m sure Oliver’s body chemistry mixed with cologne is why he’s left an imprint on my senses.

I untangle the blow dryer and blow my hair until it’s almost dry before using a brush as I carefully take sections of hair and blow it over the round bristles to create waves. When I’m finished, I’m impressed with my skills. I look different. I’ve become complacent with my daily routine, and Lucinda is right. I’m too young to sit at home all the time. I’ve seen every movie on TV a dozen times, and I need to find a decent man if I’m ever to have a relationship.

I rummage through my drawers and find panties to match my good bra, quickly putting both on. I step into the dress and hold my breath until I’m zipped in it. Luckily for me, I haven’t gained weight sitting at my desk. I’m sure the daily yoga workout counts for something.

I return to the bathroom to apply makeup. I retrieve the wicker basket sitting on top of the toilet tank. I will need my base, blush powder, and light colors to use for my eyelids. I use a brush for moisturizer and another I reserve for my base and powder. The last one left remnants of itself on my face, so I broke down and bought myself new ones a week ago.

I blow on the mascara. It never behaves, and I have to use a Q-tip to get it off, and I say fuck it. I give myself a pass. I don’t know how women use eyelash curlers. My lashes are non-existent. I refuse to glue on the fake lashes because they look ridiculously on me.

By six-thirty, I’m digging around in my bottom dresser drawer for a clutch purse. I add the necessities to it and carry my cell phone in my hand for now. I pace. I hate waiting. What if he doesn’t show up?

What if he does?

Ugh. This is why I hate dating. It’s not fun.

There’s a knock on the door. I hope to God it’s not Carlo.

CHAPTER9

Oliver

Idon’t hit any traffic on the way to Penelope’s. I park my new BMW XM outside her apartment and pray nobody fucks with it. This is not the best neighborhood. I check my surroundings as I walk to her door. I double-check the address and knock. Why am I nervous? Is it the sketchy neighborhood or date-night butterflies? Dating normally comes easy, and why not? I’ve had years of practice.

The door opens, and I can’t help but notice the shocked look on Penelope’s face. Her hair flows over her shoulders, and she looks so different than when she was cleaning my house.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” She takes a deep breath and steps back, beckoning me to walk into her apartment. I wonder if she was expecting someone else to be at the door. Why do I have the feeling I’m missing something?

“These are for you.” I hand her a bouquet of yellow roses.

“Thank you,” she says as she bends her head to smell them. “I’ll just put them in something.” She opens a few cabinet doors and finds a clear glass vase. She uses scissors to cut the cellophane off and then nips the ends of the rose stems before placing them in the vase. When she’s done, she adds water to the vase and pours the packet of white powder into it. She rearranges the buds briefly before she sets the vase on the glass tabletop, which appears to have a second use as a workstation. The apartment is small.

She leans over the table to smell the roses again. I can’t take my eyes off her voluptuous breasts.They are large and perfect, and I’d love to sink my…

“They are beautiful, thank you so much.” Her eyes meet mine. I hope she can’t read my dirty thoughts. If we weren’t on a first date, I’d be inclined to spend hours getting acquainted with her voluptuous body and telling her how pretty she is.

Instead, I respond with, “My pleasure.”

I’m at a loss for words. This apartment is overly warm. I can’t be this close to her and not touch her. In a panic, I say, “Ready to go?” I turn abruptly and head to the door. The apartment is so small it only takes four strides to get there, and that’s being generous.

“Sure.” She picks up her purse, slips her phone into it, and she lifts her winter coat off the back of the couch. I take it from her, and she slips her arms into the sleeves and murmurs, “Thank you.” I open the apartment door, and we walk out. Once we are outside, she uses a key for the deadbolt.

“I’m over here. The Beamer,” I say to give her a heads up. I scan the parking lot, and at the far end, it appears the car the kid was talking about earlier is sitting there. I assume they are trying to sell drugs to the residents, which is odd, as well. There is no one in the parking lot. Where is their business? In fact, I have an odd feeling that they have their eye on me or Penelope. I doubt they would recognize me because we’re too far away. What are they doing sitting there?

I escort Penelope to my car and open the door for her before I walk to the driver’s side. I slide behind the wheel.

“I’m glad you like steak. I’m taking you to Leon’s Steak House. It’s near the arena on Moose River. It has a nice terrace, and sadly, it’s winter, and it’s closed tonight. It’s excellent food.”

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