“Ha. Ha. Ha. Get over here and entertain me, damn it.”
“Will do. I’ll be there in ten. Wear something comfortable,” he adds mysteriously and hangs up.
Jeez – if this were a real live date I’d be pissed. No wonder he doesn’t date anyone. Ten minutes to get ready. Seriously?
I jump up out of my seat, catching it before it falls backwards onto the kitchen floor, and make a mad dash to the bedroom. I throw on my yoga pants, the ones that make my ass look good, not that it matters, my favorite purple tank top which reads “National Sarcasm Society: Like We Need Your Support”, Harlow and I made it together, and my black blinged out flip flops, because every woman needs a little bling every now and then. I brush out my hair and put it in a ponytail, ahh…how I’ve missed you ponytail, and throw on my NY Yankees baseball hat. I add a bit of mascara and some lip gloss to my face and poof…I’m done. Giving myself a last appraisal in mirror, I’m satisfied with the outcome of my appearance.
Ha! Take that Blake Morgan with your ten minute ready requirement.
Walking into the living room, I hear the rumble of his motorcycle coming up my driveway. I open the door and watch him get off his bike. He removes his sunglasses and shakes out his windblown hair, which of course looks sexy as hell. The ends of his hair turn up around his ears and fall to the collar of his very well fitting v-neck black t-shirt. His blue jeans, frayed at the bottom, just barely drag the ground over his black boots.
He turns around to take the keys out of his ignition and my breath hitches as I drop my glance and note (privately of course) that his bottom looks very nice in those jeans. Very nice indeed. Turning around to face me, he gives me a sexy lop-sided grin while he tucks the sunglasses into the front of his shirt so they hang from the “V” and runs his hand through his hair.
I try to swallow, but my throat is really dry…probably because I have been watching him with my mouth wide open. I immediately start to cough.
“You okay, Alex?” he asks with a knowing smile.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to breathe through my coughing attack. “I think I swallowed a gnat. Gross. I’m gonna go get some water. Come on in.” I whip around and head into the house as fast as I can so he won’t be able to see that my face has turned a new shade of red. So embarrassing.