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“Preferably red ones.”
The night was silvery, a full moon, a streetlight luring moths and bugs, and Georgia blushed so hard Damon might’ve seen it. She felt it in her feet. If he was touching her face he’d feel it too.
“You’re going to need one. Next weekend. Voice actors’ annual awards night. I’d like you to come with me and it’s black tie.”
“So we’re going to last a whole week?” The devil made her do that.
“Unless you put out first.”
She was no competitor to the devil in him, and because his voice was chilli chocolate, smooth with a bite, and his expression was rat pack cool, she thumped him. Hit him with a closed fist in the centre of his chest. He coughed a laugh, turned it into a splutter and lifted her off the grass. “Your call.”
She struggled, but he held her against him and she didn’t want to be anywhere else so quit wriggling and kissed him, let her body go soft against his. They could argue about the dress tomorrow.
She’d only switched on lights and relocked her front door when her phone rang. She answered while sliding the key back in the lock. He must’ve had trouble getting a taxi.
“What are you wearing?”
She laughed. She could hear another voice. “Are you in the cab?”
“The driver is taking a call—in Arabic. He’s not listening to me. What are you wearing?” Dog with a bone. He’d be like that about the dress tomorrow too. She needed to think about how to deal with that. He wasn’t buying her a dress.
“Five-year-old faded Hello Kitty pjs with a hole in the shorts and a sauce stain down the front.”
“What flavour?”
“Um.”
She stifled a laugh and pretended to consider and he cut in with, “Where’s the hole?”
“Goodnight, Damon.”
He hummed and she picked the tune, confirmed when he said, “Goodnight, Georgia on my mind.”
She slept like prehistoric bones, buried in bedclothes and ancient inspiring dreams of dancing with a tall dark-haired stranger who didn’t feel strange at all. And he wasn’t strange the next morning either, standing outside her door, hair wet, slicked back, face flushed, sunglasses on.
He’d been to the gym, which is what accounted for the muscles under his t-shirt and the soap-fresh smell of him. And the sunglasses were for the glare, not the lick of rock star bad boy they gave him. He didn’t kiss her and that was as deliberate as his eagerness to take her out so she couldn’t fault him for it.
In the taxi he held her hand. “I worked out I don’t hang with any girly-girls.”
“What’s your definition of a girly-girl?”
“One who’d know where to buy a sexy red dress.”
“You can’t buy me a dress.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve known you a week.”
He brought his lips to her ear; this driver wasn’t on the phone. She held her breath. “And you were thinking about sleeping with me last night. You’re thinking about it now. What’s a dress between two consenting adults?”
She pushed his face away. “Unnecessary.”
He sat back laughing. “We’re in complete agreement.”
“Good.” She looked at him; smug grin, dimple deep, smelled a rat loose from its pack. “What?”
He leaned over her. “We’re in complete agreement, there’s no need for a dress between consenting adults.”
