He steps closer and brushes my hair back over my shoulders. “I didn’t tell you how to do your job.”
Gemmie failed to mention I’d be dealing with Mr. All-Star Personality. He turns and messes with things on his counter. I exhale louder than I intend to, not realizing I’ve been holding my breath.
“What color is your dress?”
“Emerald.”
He glances over his shoulder.
“That’s green.” I relinquish a tightlipped smile.
His eyes go wide; he turns back around. It’s possible he already knew that emerald is a shade of green. I can only imagine what my next brilliant statement will be … my eye color is sky … that’s blue. He moves close with the stealth of a slithering snake—tempting, teasing. I can smell him … taste him. He’s gay. He’s gay. He’s gay. I cringe at the way my body stiffens as he touches my skin.
“Relax.” That damn seductive voice wrecks me!
His face, mere inches from mine, suffocates me with an awkward … intimacy. My heart drums against my chest over and over, and I can’t control it. Surly he hears it or feels it. Hell, I think it’s vibrating the whole room. I lick my lips and swallow. My body will collapse on itself if I look at his eyes, but I can’t not look at them. They’re right here staring at me. Why does he have to be so close? Is he nearsighted? Jade was right; he’s intense.
I squeak and it’s an actual I’m-so-pathetically-losing-it sound when his hand rests on my leg.
“Re-lax.”
I hadn’t noticed my pent-up energy being channeled into my leg, bouncing out of control. What is wrong with me? HE’S GAY!
The problem is … I’m not. His sexual preference doesn’t take away from his scorching sex appeal. I bet my ass is singed from his nearness burning my panties right off.
“Close your eyes.”
If he doesn’t remove his hand from my leg I’m going to lean in and attack his neck like a rabid animal. Just one little taste.
“H-how’s your hand?” I grasp at anything that might be a distraction.
He doesn’t respond, but thank God he removes his hand from my leg.
“So you like the big band era, huh?”
Nothing.
“Are you the owner?”
Still nothing.
What’s his deal? I give up. I’m pitting out, nipping out, and striking out. He doesn’t want to talk. Fine—neither do I! My focus turns to the music, the long list of assholes I plan on avoiding tonight, and the test results I need to check on at the hospital in the morning. Then, against my will, he manages to draw me under his hypnotic spell with those black-framed eyes.
Time drags on and on. I need a shower, but given my hair and makeup I’ll have to settle for a sponge bath. He outlines my lips with a pencil then makes a slow, torturous production of applying lipstick. I have to keep my lips slightly parted, which means he can hear and even feel my quickening breath … I’m panting.
Pathetic.
Trick steps back, leaving me naked to his scrutinizing gaze.
“Beautiful.”
I choke on my tongue in disbelief that he just said that, then I look past him at the mirror. Words are inadequate. I’m … holy hell, it’s like I’m staring at the cover of a glamour magazine. I didn’t get it before, but now I do. Hello, Sistine Chapel.
“Is there a problem?”
I blink a few times and shake my head like I’m lost, and I am … for words.
“You look disappointed. That’s not a look I’m accustom to seeing.”
Lucky you.
I continue to shake my head. Closing my eyes, I give myself a much needed mental bitch slap for being disappointed that the gay makeup artist is admiring his work and not me. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
I pay for the most expensive and most erotic hour of my life. Glancing at my watch, I realize I need to make haste if I’m going to beat Steven to my place.
Trick’s enigmatic personality makes even a simple goodbye feel like an awkward conversing between two people who don’t speak the same language. “So … thanks.”
He nods. Once again, I’m left guessing what his simple body language says. Maybe it’s “you’re welcome,” or maybe he’s just dismissing me.
I shuffle in my flip flops to the door and give him one last smile, one last chance to say something! He doesn’t reciprocate. I’m not sure he actually has teeth. He’s never given me more than a barely detectable smirk. A full-fledged smile with the straight white teeth I imagine are behind those yummy lips would make me climax. Maybe it’s best if I never know.
*
The massive waste of money for political fundraisers, or politics in general, makes me physically ill. It’s greed and gluttony. If I really think about it, it’s all of the seven deadly sins. Ironically, I think committing them is a prerequisite to running for any higher office in this country “One nation under God.” God has to be shaking his head.