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Standing in front of the elongated mirror, I turn left and right and spin around to see the back of my summer dress. I adjust the thin half-inch straps over my bare shoulders and lean over forward to see if my girls are on display and if my strapless bra is doing its job. I look down at my turquoise-painted toenails—if anyone can ever accuse me of having an obsession, it’s more likely to be toenail polish than being a workaholic—and I realize they need repainting, light blue to match the blue flowers on my dress.
After that, all I have left to do is wait. I glance at the clock on my phone and sigh miserably—it’ll be a whole hour before Luke gets here—and I thought six seconds was a long time.
Finally the hour is up and … he’s still not here.
I check my phone in case he texted me or called at some point, hopeful that he had. Nothing. Fifteen minutes late and I’m starting to feel like the girl who got stood up at the prom by that stupid quarterback.
My phone chimes in my hand, my heart skipping a few beats.
Luke: Sorry I’m late! I’m almost there. Give me about 10 minutes.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I stand up from the bed and go over to check myself out in the mirror again. Already my face is starting to get oily. Or maybe that’s from my nerves, or sweat from the summer heat. I pat the area between my eyes and around my nose with a square of toilet paper. Geez! I’ve never been so nervous in my life!
I grab my bulky rust-orange leather purse from the bed and shoulder it—no need to make sure I have everything because I’ve already done that about, oh, at least five times: cell phone, wallet, room key, Canon.
I head downstairs to meet Luke in the lobby just as he’s walking through the main doors with his cell phone crushed in his hand. For a moment, as he walks toward me, all I can do is check him out as I’ve only ever seen him in swimming shorts and T-shirts—or shirtless—before. He’s dressed in a pair of light khaki pants with the legs rolled up just above his ankles, and a light blue button-up shirt, loosely tucked behind a belt, with the sleeves rolled tight around his bicep muscles. A pair of casual brown leather loafers dress his feet. A thick brown braided bracelet dresses one wrist. A smile that I find myself becoming addicted to. I swallow nervously; the pit of my stomach swims with a sort of besotted shiver.
I smile brightly to distract from any incriminating evidence of infatuation left on my face.
“Wow,” he says, stepping up to me, beaming. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say, unable to hide the blush in my face, and I refuse to waste time trying anymore.
I look him up and down with an investigative gaze. “And look at you,” I say as my eyes slowly find his. “I’m impressed. Truly I am. Didn’t expect that.”
He grins crookedly and it melts me a little inside.
“What, am I not the Abercrombie & Fitch type?”
“No, I guess I just didn’t imagine you in anything—”
“You didn’t imagine me in anything?” He raises a brow and his grin appears more devilish. “So you’re imagining me in the buff already?”
Yes.
“No!” My hand instinctively comes out and play-swats him on the shoulder. My face flushes and I look at the floor, almost able to see my reflection in it, the tile is so clean and shiny. “That’s not what I was going to say.” Laughter rolls out along with my words.
“Sure sounded like it,” he quips. “I didn’t imagine you were such a pervert. Too cute to be perverted, in my opinion.”
I can’t find it in me to think of a witty comeback, so I just stand here with my hands folded together in front of me and wearing an embarrassed smile that covers my whole face.
He changes the mood by looking me up and down with the explorative sweep of his eyes, which makes me blush harder. “But seriously, Sienna, you’re gorgeous.”
My smile stretches. “Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say the same about you—but!” I hold up a finger. “I think I’ve witnessed firsthand another one of your flaws,” I tell him in jest.
He tries not to smile too broadly, pressing his lips together in a line. “Being late, I know. But in my defense—” He holds up a finger, too, but I cut in before he has a chance to explain.
“Let me guess—the girl on the bike again? She’s starting to freak me out a little. What if she sees me with you and comes after me?”
Luke laughs lightly.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I think she’s long gone by now. I was late this time because of the public transportation. But you’re right, it’s a flaw. I’m not always late. To be honest, I’m only ever late to the most important things.”
I don’t know what to think of that, but I find myself feeling good about it, at least.
“Well, that’s a little weird, don’t you think?”
He nods, and I grin and go on, taunting him. “I’ve always heard that people who are often late don’t really care about others, or respect their time. They’re rude, inconsiderate, and selfish.” Actually I’m a firm believer of that observation, but for some reason, I can’t put Luke on their level, not because I’m bewitched by him, but deep down I don’t think he belongs there. I just hope he has a good excuse to prove me right.
