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And I could tell, even though we had no idea what we’d waded into, none of us had a good feeling about it.
EIGHTEEN
“THAT’S THE WAY LOVE GOES”
(JANET JACKSON)
That evening, standing in Javi’s bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, I flicked at some of my bouncy curls before I leaned in and checked my shocking red lipstick.
Exceptional liner placement, flawless fill.
Okay.
Good.
I took one long last look and decided I was ready for my date with Javi.
I headed out, and halfway down the stairs, I turned to see my guy standing by his kitchen island, phone to his ear.
I almost tripped on my high-heeled gold sandals.
Javi was wearing a crisp, light-blue button-down and navy-blue trousers, and both looked cut to fit him personally. These with fantastic brown oxfords, though I could see that hot-guy sliver of skin between hem and shoe.
I didn’t know he could look more beautiful.
But dang, all cleaned up, he could look more beautiful.
It was then I almost tripped again when I saw the expression on his face as his eyes devoured me from across the space.
Total proof I’d done good with my dress. Bright red. Spaghetti straps. Deep cut at the bodice with loose ruffles hanging from the V. Another diagonal ruffle across the front of the short, flippy skirt and around the hem. I did gold hoops, a gold bangle, and the gold heels with a gold bag, and that was it with accessories.
I was using the plethora of skin and cleavage as my zingers.
And those zingers hit their target if the expression of wanton hunger on Javi’s face was anything to go by.
This made my shoulders straighten, and the rest of my descent of the stairs was slow and sure, my journey to him across the room as he hastily ended whatever call he was on was confident and assured.
I felt something I’d never, ever felt before.
I felt beautiful.
I felt powerful.
And I felt both because Javi gave them to me.
For some reason, this didn’t do what it would normally do—make me cry.
No, that was how powerful I felt, how sure.
In that moment, I knew all my life I’d been trying too hard, like I was frantically attempting to mold myself into what I was supposed to be, at the same time desperately trying to convince myself who I was, was just fine.
But in that moment, I’d never felt more right.
No, more real.
Thus, when I made it to him, I simply put my hand on his chest.
He put his to my waist.