“Two girls living together. We have to lock the door.” She turns, flicking the lock. I know she’s right. I’m learning that I’m not the most street smart person. “So what are we wearing?” She drops her bag down at the door.
“Jeans and a shirt?”
“Oh, look at you. Getting wild and not wearing yoga pants.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” Sometimes I’m not actually sure.
“Yes.” She walks over towards me, pulling my hair out of the ponytail I have it in. “Let’s get ready.”
“It’s only seven. Don’t these things start late?” I yawn thinking about it. I should have taken a nap.
“We’re going to eat first.” I perk up at that. Trin has a car which means we can go somewhere good.
“I’ll be ready in five minutes.” I pop up from the sofa. She grabs my arm.
“You’re not getting ready in five minutes.”
“I gotta at least put pants on.” I look down at my bare legs. We don’t have to leave right this second. I’m hungry and all, but pants are a must.
“I meant that it’s going to take us an hour to get ready.” I know this is not a fight I’m going to win. I lean down, grabbing the gummy bears off the coffee table to hold me over.
“You’re going to do my hair and makeup, aren’t you?” She’s been trying to get at me since we moved in together. It’s not that I don’t like makeup. I just often forget about it. When I do remember to put some on, it’s usually only a little mascara and lip gloss.
“Oh, by the time I’m done with you you’re going to look damn sexy.”
“How is that different from how I look now?” I don’t necessarily think I am sexy but I think I look decent.
“Right now you got that whole adorable thing going on. That girl next door look.” She pulls me by my arm toward her bedroom. “How do you do walking in heels?”
“I’m actually not too bad,” I admit. I’ve had to go to a few events over the years that my father hosted. Trudy always picked me out something nice to wear. It typically included heels. I actually like them because they make me taller. The problem always was that I didn’t care much for the clothes that were paired with them.
“I’m not talking wedges,” she teases as she sits me down in her makeup chair and turns on the lights that line the mirror, almost blinding me.
“I give. Do with me what you want as long as you take me somewhere good to eat.” I put my hands up in mock surrender.
“Deal. But only after I make you look good enough to eat. You’ll have the mouths of those boys at that party watering to get a taste of you when I’m finished.”
I’m not so sure I want a boy. The man from the cafeteria today flashes into my mind. He’s been doing that since I saw him. There was nothing about him that even came close to being a boy.
Chapter Five
Daman
Socks. I suddenly like socks. I open a tab on the browser and search for thick, fluffy knee length socks. There’s a lot of choices so I order one of each. She definitely likes color. My eyes drift around my barren apartment. Two clicks and I have a green toaster in my shopping cart. The recommendations tell me I can also buy a green butter knife and then a whole place setting in green. I order it all. I feel accomplished.
Now time to pick out something to wear for dinner. It’ll be the first time we officially meet so I’ll need to make a good impression with her. It would be good if she’d fall in love with me so I don’t have to kidnap her. I don’t know much about how the whole Stockholm syndrome thing works. Anyone who locked me up has always ended up dying. I need to avoid that outcome with my girl.
I walk to the closet and throw open my doors. A sea of black confronts me. I rub the back of my hand across my forehead. My former profession didn’t really lend itself to colorful clothing. I pull on a pair of black cargo pants, a thin black turtleneck and top it all with a black leather coat. Even my belt buckle is black. At least I don’t have to worry about everything matching. After pocketing my wallet, I return to the computer and order a pair of green socks. They’ll get here tomorrow. All I have to do is not mess up tonight and when I see her again, I can be decked out in things she likes.
My footsteps echo against the concrete floor as I head back to the computer to figure out the restaurant they’re going to. A man has to eat, after all. I’m not prepared for what’s on my screen. I take one look and grab my knife. And my gun. What my girl is wearing is illegal. Or should be illegal. High heels, short and tight skirt, a ripped T-shirt held together on the side and the shoulder with two knots I could slice off before she could voice a protest. Hell, a stiff breeze could probably render her tits out in a half second or less. I should’ve put a speaker in the ceiling because then I could’ve been her conscience telling her that going out dressed like this was going to cause problems. A glance down at the way my cock is filling up my loose cargo paints is exhibit A.