Page 24 of Demo
When I pulled up to the dorm, I was struck by how different Lizzie looked. She had black, heeled, ankle-boot-type shoes with black stockings, a short black skirt, and a red top underneath a black blazer with the sleeves rolled up, revealing a white-striped liner on the cuffs. She had more makeup on than she did the other night, and her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail with little curly wisps hanging around her face.
She was the sexiest damn thing I had ever seen.
She bound up to the passenger side door and opened it, and as she stood there, I saw hesitation in her eyes. “Knox, are you sure this is OK?”
“Get in the damn car, woman!” I ordered, and she slung a black leather briefcase into the cab, which I didn’t even realize she was holding, and hoisted herself into the truck. As soon as the door was shut, I pulled away.
“Which way?” I asked, as she buckled herself in.
“Left out of campus, right at the light.”
Getting my bearings on which way I was headed, I finally allowed myself a glance at her again. Seated, her skirt rode up a bit and exposed even more of her thick thigh. When I drew my eyes up her torso to her eyes, I saw her staring at me.
“What?” she asked nervously.
“Nothing,” I shook my head. “Nothing. I just …”
“WHAT?!” she practically barked, and I jumped.
“No. It’s not. It’s just … Is that what women wear in the workplace?”
She stared at me. “What … Why? What do you mean? What’s wrong with my outfit?” She started fidgeting with her blazer and pulling at her skirt.
“No, nothing! Nothing iswrongwith it. You just, well—”
“What, Knox?! Tell me!”
“I wanna fucking eat you for dinner, is what!”Smooth, Knox. Real smooth.
She gawked at me like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Seriously, Knox? You’re saying that to me as we rush, late—take the next left, by the way—to this interview, and it’s not like I have a change of clothes in my briefcase along with my portfolio and I didn’t even have anything else to wear PERIOD because apparently I’m stuck in 2005 and nothing I own is even remotely businesslike …”
She stammered on, hands flying through the air as she animatedly lost her mind right there in the cab of my truck. When she pinched her blouse at the chest and started tenting it out and back in, fanning herself like she was having a hot flash, I couldn’t help the smile that plastered across my face.Adorable.
“... and of course, my printer was out of ink so I couldn’t print out my latest writing sample, so they are going to have to go off my older stuff which is OK, but I really feel like it’s not my best—up here on the right!” She pointed out the window.
By the grace of God, there was a parking spot right out front I was able to fit into. “Lizzie, it’s OK. Take a breath,” I said as I put the truck in park and turned it off. “And you’ve even got eleven minutes to spare.”
All joking aside, she was more stressed than I had realized, running her hands up and down her thighs, fanning herself, and looking around and out the windows like she was looking for an emergency exit. She was panicking.
I jumped out of the truck and jogged around the front to open her door. I helped her out, and she kept looking around, wringing her hands, and I swear she had tears in her eyes.
“Woah, hang in there, baby,” I said softly as I secured my hands on her shoulders and ducked down to look into her eyes.
“What if they don’t like me?” she blurted out.
“Hang on,” I said as I released her and tried to pat off the dust from my pants.Why did we have to be hanging drywall today?
Realizing my shirt was toast, I reached behind me and pulled it over my head and tossed it into the back of the truck, leaving me in just my sweaty undershirt. Then, I gently pulled Lyzbeth into my arms. I remember thinking she may stink after that, but at least she wouldn’t be filthy.
“What are you—”
“Shhhh,” I cooed as I wrapped my arms around her and slowly tightened my hold. I could feel her heart beating a mile a minute. She was rigid at first. She murmured into my chest, “Knox. What are you doing?” as I ever so slowly rocked her side to side.
“Think of it like a dance. It’s just a dance,” I said, still swaying with her in my arms.
“Why are we dancing on the street when I have a job interview in like six minutes?” she murmured into me.
“Because you’re about to lose your shit, and that’s not a good look on anyone.” I felt her start to relax. “Now, just take a breath, and tell me: Why should they hire you?”
