And as irresistible. Her black dress hugs her curves like it was made for them.
Her silver nails dig into her black bag. “Someone had to do it.”
I arch a brow.
“Wear all black.”
My shoulders relax. I need her smile. I need her teasing me. I need this awkwardness gone. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” She moves down the walkway. “You look great too.”
“Thanks.”
“Really. It’s weird though, seeing you in a suit.”
It’s bizarre, being in a suit.
But it can’t compare to the distance between us.
To the memory of her lips on mine.
Of that groan bouncing around the dressing room.
We still haven’t talked about the kiss.
That’s a million times weirder than dressing like someone else.
I tap the key fob to unlock the door for her. She moves around the car, slides into the passenger’s seat before I get the chance to open the door for her.
I get into the driver’s seat, click my seatbelt, turn the car on.
Melancholy music fills the car. I’ve been listening to this shit all week.
I’ve been a mess all week.
I can’t stand it.
She clicks her seat
belt. Sets her purse in her lap. “It’s in Beverly Hills?”
“Yeah.” I pull onto the street. “Shouldn’t be much traffic at this time.”
She nods sure.
The singer croons about the agony of lost love.
I try to focus on the street and the wall between us. By the time I cross the freeway, it’s helpless.
It’s a perfect summer night—seventy and breezy—but the car is freezing cold.
“It’s making me sick.” I stop at a red light. “That you aren’t talking to me.”
“I’m just busy.”
My eyes find hers. “Bullshit.”
“No.” She refuses to hold my gaze. “I did that first design.”