Page 103 of Crazy In Love
Seven days and seven nights, not including tonight. Seven sleeps. Seven chances to tell her I want to keep her… and pray she doesn’t laugh in my face.
“It feels kind of strange dressing up for a fancy party at the gym.” Fox fusses in the brand-new-ish bathroom above the bookstore, dropping something into the sink so it lands with a clatter, and following that with the sound of a metallic ting; bobby-pins, hitting the ceramic bowl. “I’m not even trying to live up to my New York hoity toity reputation. I just… it’s kinda weird, don’t you think?”
“No. I don’t think.” I wait in her kitchen and glance down at my suit. A whole ass suit, with a tie that squeezes my neck and shiny black shoes that annoy my feet. Comb lines mark my hair, and for the first time in a long time, I’ve shaved my jaw free of stubble. “We pulled up the mats last night and put down a dance floor.” And lights. And a million rows of chairs. And lace chair bows. And flowers.So many fucking flowers.“Tommy wanted to do it up nice for Alana, so instead of running classes, the students pitched in and helped us. Whittled a ten-hour job down to two.”
“Really?” She sets something heavy on the vanity, then the click-click-click of her heels announces her steps. So I stand taller. I straighten my coat and broaden my shoulders.
Though there aren’t enough nerves in the world to prepare me for the way I swallow my tongue, because she steps out of the bathroom in a gown of red and black, with a boned torso and wispy skirts that come with a definite almost see-though factor. She wears black heels and long,longfucking legs that disappear somewhere amongst the flowing fabric.
She twines her fingers together, fussing and blushing. Which is entirely fucking odd, considering how beautiful she is.
“You’re staring.” She clears her throat and lowers her gaze. “No good?”
“What?” I choke on air and a metric dose of that panic I swear I don’t feel, but I take a step forward, then two and three more until I grab her hands and lift, forcing her to spin for me. “Fuck,” I breathe. “You look amazing.”
“Is it too much?” She comes back around and searches my eyes, nibbling glistening red lips that match her dress exactly. “Not enough? Is everyone else going to wear, like… Sunday best, so then I’ll look like an idiot begging for attention?”
“I’m wearing a suit, aren’t I?” I tug her closer and draw her hand up, pressing my lips to her throbbing wrist. “Tommy’s wearing a suit. Alana’s wearing a gown. I’m pretty sure you look exactly right. And if not, you still match me and Tommy and Alana. So we can all look stupid together.”
“Solidarity,” she nervously snickers, sliding a lock of hair behind her ear. “You look nice. I’m not saying the half-naked, sweating-and-bleeding-in-the-gym look isn’t working for me, since it’s entirely delicious and currently makes up eighty-five percent of my touch-myself memory bank, but?—”
“Wait.” I frown. “Onlyeighty-five percent?”
“Josh Hartnett, circa Pearl Harbor,” she smirks. “Ben Affleck, same time. Leonardo DiCaprio, Titanic. David Boreanaz, Buffy?—”
“Okay, shut up now.” I want so badly to clap my palm over her mouth and force her to silence. But her lipstick is so perfect. Her work, appreciated. “I don’t need a play-by-play.”
“All those other guys have to share their fifteen percent. Five percent now, actually.” She brushes the tips of her fingers over my tie. “Suited-Christian-Watkins just gobbled up a bunch of real estate. You mentioned a dance floor, right? Would I be needy and weird if I was hoping you’d ask me to dance?”
In front of other people?
“No?” Smiling, she glances down again. “Alana said there’ll be a surprise today. Did you hear that?”
“I heard it from Tommy.”
She gently pulls her hand from mine, circling the bed and grabbing a small black purse. She tosses her phone inside. Keys. Then striding past me, her perfume filling my lungs and knocking me back a step, she moves into the bathroom and re-emerges a moment later with a tube of red lipstick. “Did he say what the surprise is?”
I shake my head instead of saying the one word I don’t want to hear tonight. So she tucks the lipstick away with the rest of her things and drops her hands. “I guess we should go then, huh? It’s important we’re there before everyone else, since we’re part of the party planning committee.”
“We are?” I drape my arm over her shoulders and pull her against my side, because this is my last chance to hold her close for the rest of today. My last opportunity to be with her before the real world encroaches and Alana’s eyes notice too much.
I walk her all the way to the door, but when she grabs the handle and attempts to pull it open, I set my foot in the way and bring her around again, pushing her back against the wall.
I just need another minute.
Maybe two.
Unbothered by whatever emotion flashes through my eyes, she reaches up and strokes my chin with the pad of her thumb. “I appreciate your hard work planning this day. We got off to a rough start, but…”
“I don’t recall volunteering for a committee.”
“I know.” She plays with my tie, patting it down gently. “But you ordered that cake like a boss. I’m proud of you.”
“I helped lay the floor, too. And changed the playlist from ‘kick their ass’ metal to something a little prettier.”
“Your talents will never cease to amaze me.” She walks her fingers over my collar and up to the back of my neck, then pulling me in, she hums her pleasure as I follow her unspoken order and lean in for a kiss. “I wouldn’t have believed you if you’d told me five weeks ago that we’d be here. Doing this.”
“In your apartment making out?”
