Page 12 of Electric Blue Love
The faint rustling of clothing being taken off and discarded was followed by silence. My free hand laid restlessly on my knee and I tapped my thumb. How long did it take to put on a pair of jeans and take a picture?
“Okay, I sent it,” she said breathlessly as a text alert pinged in my ear.
Pulling my phone away from my ear, I opened the message and inhaled. Letting the breath out slowly, I drank in her long, denim-clad legs. The picture cut off at her bare navel and dark jeans slung low on her hips and hugged them so tightly all I could think was how much I wanted to turn them inside out. The young girl I’d met in a frumpy, faded dress that hid her body and made her blend into the background was gone.
The taxi stopped in front of the American Airlines departure doors and I exited the car before I held the phone back to my ear.
“Are there other options?”
“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised and then determined. “I knew those were no good. They’re so tight I can barely bend over.”
Fuck me, now I was picturing her bending over in those painted on denim jeans.
“You look great. I just want to see all the options. Shirts too. Something that shows just a bit of skin.”
“Alright, give me –”
“Actually, I just arrived at the airport, so I need to hang up. Text me the options.” I had nearly two hours until the plane boarded, but I needed to get off the phone before I said something stupid.
“Are you sure? My roommate is going to be home soon, I can ask her.”
“I’m sure. Send me the options.”
“Okay,” she said and let out a small huff like the feat of getting dressed was more than she could manage.
“You’re hot 8B. Stop stressing. Now get to work finding an outfit. There’s still hair and shoes to iron out.”
Court said Iwas hot.
I used his words as the boost I needed while I picked through every article of clothing in my closet. Despite the fact that I lived in mostly hand me-down clothes, my closet was filled with lots of newer, stylish, and more expensive clothes, tags still intact.
Tasha liked to shop. More specifically she liked to use her dad’s Visa card to somehow try to get back at him for not taking a more active interest in her life. I wasn’t sure her approach was working since they hadn’t seen each other all semester, but she shopped, and I often ended up on the receiving end of expensive, spur of the moment purchases.
I wasn’t sure if she bought the items for herself and then felt too guilty to actually wear them or if gifting them to me was her subtly trying to get me out of my mother’s old dresses. I appreciated the gesture either way. Plus, she had really good taste. Fashion, art – she had an eye for all of it.
I tried on three more pairs of jeans hoping one of these would get the Court seal of approval. The first pair was a light denim with holes at the knees that I paired with an off the shoulder black shirt. It was the most me of the outfits, but since the whole point of this was going out of my comfort zone, I figured this one wasn’t it.
I went sexier with the second outfit. The black jeggings were tighter than the first pair of jeans Court had vetoed, but I pulled on a low cut red top that I hoped made me look sexy and didn’t put me into thetrying too hardclass.
Last, I tried on a pair of pink skinny jeans that Tasha had bought just last week and pulled on a crème boat necked shirt. It was the most expensive looking outfit of the three and a quick glance at the tag told me why.
“$200 for a shirt?!” I said aloud to my reflection.
Pulling at the hem, I fidgeted but wasn’t all together unhappy with how I looked. It felt like a compromise of who I was and how Court said I should look.
Stripping down and placing the outfits neatly on my bed, I sent Court the photos I’d snapped of me in all three options. I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a little squeal after pressing send. I was nervous.
His approval meant more than it probably should. I wasn’t totally convinced that even with his help I could capture Todd’s attention for more than one night, but I was pretty confident that if Court couldn’t help me – no one could. He oozed self-confidence and there was no way a guy as good looking as him didn’t have his pick of women.
While I waited for his response, I pulled out my laptop and entered his name in the search engine. Google returned almost no more information than I already knew about Court. A link to his bio on his company’s website affirmed that he was a NYU graduate who worked in risk management. The picture was a standard headshot with a grey background that should have made him look like all the other middle-aged men in suits. It didn’t.
I pulled up his Facebook account next. His profile picture hadn’t been changed in over two years, but it was a candid. He wasn’t looking at whoever had taken the photo, but he smiled with a beer in hand wearing a white button-down shirt that was open at the neck. Everything else was locked down, but I had a suspicion that even if I had full access, his profile wouldn’t provide me with the nitty gritty details I was after. Who was Court Adams?
My phone pinged from where it lay on the comforter beside me and I picked it up with greedy hands, both anxious and dreading his feedback.
Court: Option 3. Wear your hair up.
I let out a small sigh of relief that he hadn’t chosen the most revealing outfit because I was pretty certain I’d never be able to convince myself to leave the house wearing it. I let my fingers hover over the message trying to decide how to respond. I wanted to know more about Court, but I treaded carefully, keeping the attention on our task at hand in hopes to gain some details about him.
