Chapter Twenty-Seven
Now
“Baby, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you — I am, always.” Standing in the doorway, Simon tilted his head sideways and looked me up and down. “But first you pull a vanishing act for the past three days and then you show up on my doorstep unannounced and, itmustbe said, disheveled in an I-just-had-sex kind of way?”
Damn, he was good.
“Do you have tequila?” I asked in a voice that was pathetically close to begging.
Simon’s brows went up. I was a wine girl — he knew this better than most — so if I was asking for liquor, the shit had really hit the fan. I shoved my way past him through the doorway and headed for the kitchen, passing by a shirtless Nate who was sitting on the sectional drinking a beer. He lifted his glass to me as I barreled by, but I didn’t stop to chat. I was a woman on a mission.
Simon trailed me to the kitchen and made short work of grabbing two shot glasses from the cabinet over the sink. I pulled the bottle of Patrón from its spot on top of the fridge.
“You’re drinking too?” I asked him, raising one eyebrow at the sight of the second glass.
“Friends don’t let friends do tequila shots alone.”
I smiled as I poured out two helpings. I lifted one, clinked it against Simon’s mid-air, and prepared to toss it back.
“What are we toasting?” Simon asked.
“Bad decisions,” I said, tilting the shot glass and pouring the burning liquid down my throat.
“Which, of course, are only ever improved when tequila is involved,” he noted in a wry voice, before throwing back his own serving. He coughed delicately, set both of our glasses in the kitchen sink, and put the cork back in the bottle. “Come on, baby. I have a surprise that’ll make you feel better, and then its story time.”
“You’re going to read me a story?” I felt my brow furrow as I laced my fingerswith Simon’s outstretched hand and allowed myself to be led across the open loft toward his bedroom.
He snorted. “No, don’t be an idiot. You’re going to tellmethe story of why you’re at my apartment at—” He glanced at his watch. “—8:15 p.m. on a Monday night. Call it payment for the tequila shot.”
I rolled my eyes and followed along in his wake. “What’s my ‘surprise’? It better not involve anything with glitter — and no, before you ask, I will not let you wax my eyebrows again. Last time, I ended up looking like Lindsay Lohan pre-rehab.”
“That waxing pot was defective!” Simon protested. “It wasn’t my fault!”
“Mhmm.”
“You’ll be sorry you ever doubted me when you see what I have for you.” He dropped my hand when we reached the door to his bedroom, and I hopped up on his bed.
“The suspense is killing me,” I drawled.
“No need for sarcasm.” Simon crossed his room and grabbed a large garment bag from his closet. I looked from the bag to his face, which bore an alarmingly happy expression as he approached.
“Oh, no,” I muttered,realization dawning.
“Oh, yes,” Simon squealed, unzipping the bag with a flourish to reveal a floor-length, Grecian style gown in ice blue. Elegantly draped fabric covered each shoulder and an ornate, silver-gilded belt gathered the material below the breast line to create an empire waist and a plunging v-neck. The daring neckline was far riskier than I’d ever choose for myself and would be sure to turn heads if I tried to squeeze my C-cups into it — but the dress’ real eye-catching feature was the back.
Or lack-thereof.
On the other side of the dress, material from each shoulder fell straight down on either side and draped in a low cowl at the small of theback, leaving the entire spine exposed. From there, the sheath of blue fabric cascaded to the floor in a short yet elaborate sweeping train that was designed to drag several inches on the ground with each step.
“Ta-da!” Simon yelled. “Surprise!”
I stared at him, more confused now than I’d been the time he told me I was no longer allowed to wear wedge-heeled sandals because they were ‘cheating’ — apparently, in his world, heels don’t count as heels unless they’re a chore to walk in.
“Um, Si, are you sure this isn’t for Fae?”
His face contorted into a look of disgust. “Of course I’m sure. Fae’s an olive-toned brunette — a summer color girl, not a winter. Ice blue would be a disaster on her. You, on the other hand, will look fabulous in this. That creamy skin and blonde hair — my little ice princess.” His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
“But where would I ever wear this?”