Page 13 of Van Cort
I chuck my bag to the side as I open the door, and my clothes stay where they land as I shed them with each step.
Shower.
Detangle my hair.
Re-apply makeup.
Dress.
Which dress?
Fuck. I grab my phone and prop it on the counter after hitting the video call button.
“April. What dress? The black one?” I hold up the two options I can’t decide between. And I have no time to be indecisive.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” I turn back to the mirror and switch the two in front of me. The black is a little more formal, so I know it will go with Everett. It’s a safe bet he’ll be in a suit again.
“Why don’t you know where you’re going?”
“I don’t have time for that. Blue or black.” I stand in front of the phone and show her the options.
“Blue looks great with your hair down. You’re keeping your hair down, right?”
“Yes. There’s no time to try anything with it.”
“Blue. Come on. Let me see.”
I take the robe off and slip the dress on. It’s ruched at the back before my ass and slinky, cut to the knee. It’s nothing too sexy, but it’s very much a date-date dress.
“Perfect. I expect to hear an update soon. Be safe.” She hangs up, and I rush out of the room, pulling the strap of my heels on as I head for the door.
Six-thirty on the dot.
Andre is outside when I hit fresh air, and he opens the door as I approach, allowing me to easily slide into the seat.
Yet again, Everett isn’t in the car.
“Will you tell me where we’re going?” I ask as the engine starts.
“I’m taking you to see Mr Van Cort. It shouldn’t take too long.”
He’s not in the car. Again.
I send the text to April, put my phone down and search for the excitement a second date should bring with a handsome guy. A handsome guy who saved me from the letch at the bar.
A while later, he pulls up in a busier part of downtown than we last visited and gets the door. Again, I take the offer of his hand and slip out.
Everett’s on the sidewalk next to what looks like a jazz bar.
He approaches, and I fight the smile on my lips at seeing him again.
“Andie. You look lovely. Shall we?” He offers the crook of his arm, and I feel sorry seeing the creases he makes in his suit.
“Thank you.” He escorts me into the bar, which looks much more sophisticated than it did outside.
There’s a stage at the far end with a piano and a band, and I’m secretly glad of picking the blue dress.
