“Smart, ruthless man. How sexy.”
“Nana!” I groan. I sigh and add, “I just needed someone to talk to.”
“Livvy,” Nana says, “you can’t have a timeline for when you find the right man for you. The fact that you’re focused on work and career doesn’t mean that you can’t still have time to fall in love.”
“But I’m not falling in love,” I contest.
“Okay then.” She sounds like she doesn’t believe me.
“I know I haven’t shown real interest in a man before, but it’s because you know I have a bigger plan. I was looking at the bigger picture and now he’s—” I throw my hands in the air. “Blocking it!”
“Yielding to an infatuation, or whatever you young ones call it these days. Fucking . . .” She snickers. “Is not necessarily a bad thing.”
“Oh, Nana!” I laugh hysterically.
“One thing I know for sure,” she adds, “is that life has its own timing.”
When we hang up, I grab my Queen of Effing Everything pillow and drop on my bed, glancing at my phone and searching NOT DRAKE on the screen.
I grin and lie down, setting my phone aside.
I like how infuriating he is. How he pushes me and brings out my competitive side.
How he smokes and dangles that cigarette from his mouth.
His touch and his kiss.
Hell, I love how he just plain told me he wanted to see me.
I just don’t know that I like wanting him like this.
In Nana’s generation, she was expected to be just a housewife. When my grandfather passed, she had to raise five kids on her own with no degree, and trust me, feeding five kids on cookie sales and knitting was hard. She always told me how much she would have liked to be prepared to be alone. I want to be more than just a young housewife, though it was nice seeing Rachel and Saint as a family. I definitely picture a family in my future; it’s something I’ve always wanted. Just not now, and I don’t think that’s what Callan wants either or might ever want.
I know he’s not asking me for that.
He’s just asking for more . . . and I’m afraid if I take that one step, he’ll pull me to the ledge and take everything.
I don’t like ledges.
But part of maturing is letting go of your fears.
I turn off the light. I think of Callan’s gorgeous smile and the sexy movements of his tongue when he kisses me on the mouth and, well, when he kisses me anywhere, really. He’s so hot. Addictive. God, he’s such a beautiful man, it’s not fair to be tempted like this.
I punch my pillow into shape and burrow my cheek in it, trying to get some sleep.
Has anything preceding this moment compared to the excitement I feel for this date?
You’d think it was my first date. It’s not.
But my nerves are ridiculous.
It’s just the first date with a guy who makes my knees weak and my heart literally throb. Urgh. My Hot Smoker Guy makes my breath slow down until it’s nonexistent, or speed up until I’m basically panting for him.
This is a big no-no, I know. But my body doesn’t get it!
I have spent practically the whole day getting ready for tonight. I went to get my nails done after barely even having breakfast because I was so nervous and excited I didn’t feel hungry. I also got a bikini wax. I was tempted to wax it all off, but remembering how Callan seemed to like me natural, I left a nice little landing strip on my you-know-what.
I then mentally rummaged through my closet for the perfect outfit and decided to go lingerie shopping. Lace, satin, ruffles, sequins, patterns, strings, and bows called out to me from all corners of the boutique lingerie store.
I finally settled on a matching bra and pantie set that I was sure would drive Callan crazy. I wanted something sexy but effortlessly so.
When I got home, I tried on the black lace thong that I got with a lovely satin bow on the back, and the black bra with lace detail on the cups. The black makes my skin look smooth and decadent, and I knew I looked good.
Hell, I looked more than good. I got all giddy and danced around my apartment in my new lingerie to sexy music, letting my mind wander to tonight, and how I hoped it would end . . .
Noticing the naughty path my thoughts were taking, I took off the lingerie because I didn’t want to ruin it with how, ehm . . . excited I was getting. Already!
I tried to entertain myself the rest of the day until it was time to get ready. I watched some mindless TV and tried to do some things for work, but nothing could get my mind off tonight.
I had woken up that morning with a text from Callan (I figured it was time I changed his name on my contacts), and the way my stomach felt when I saw his name for the first time, really, on my phone screen is indescribable. Butterflies would be an understatement; let’s just leave it at that.
I’d been trying hard to keep it just business—but underlying the business there were always these looks.
This want.
It’s become unbearable.
The text said to be ready by seven thirty, and that he would pick me up at my place.
When the clock struck six, I finally decided to start getting ready. I got in the shower and soaped up until I smelled amazing all over.
I got out of the shower and dry-brushed my skin, and then put on some moisturizer before wrapping myself in my short bathrobe and proceeding to blow-dry my hair.
Ten minutes later, my hair was dry and silky straight. I did my makeup and put on a pair of diamond earrings that my grandma had given me when I turned twenty, and walked into my closet. I decided to wear a red satin dress that flowed around my knees, though the material plastered itself to my breasts and the tops of my thighs whenever I walked. So it was the perfect combination of elegant and sexy. I finished it off with a thin necklace and strappy heels.