Page 14 of Tap Left
"Lola?" Daire raps on the door impatiently. "What’s going on in there?"
"Nothing," I squeak.
“LB.” His voice is low. Ominous. And I know if I don’t answer, he’ll probably just break the door to get in himself.
"The zipper is stuck,"I admit, feeling like a fool.
Another tap at the door. "Open it."
I unlock the door and turn around so that my back is facing the opening, but Daire barges in and moves me aside.
"This was a stupid idea," I tell him. "I can't even manage to unzip these dresses without breaking them."
He isn't listening to me.Through the reflection in the mirror, I watch his eyes travel the length of my dress. A low cut black lace number that I never in a million years would have picked out myself. For a split second, it almost looks like we belong together. His all black suit and cane is the perfect complement to the dress, and I wonder if he thought of that when he picked it out or if it was just coincidence. The room feels too hot, and I’m not entirely sure what to do right now.
Daire has never stared at me like this. It’s been years since I’ve felt so conflicted in his presence. But before I can figure out what’s happening, his armor flies back into place.
"It’s a nice dress."His voice is still as measured as ever, but his eyes are... different.
Darker. Hotter.
That little voice inside of my head is back, telling me I want something I was never meant to have. Maybe he wants me too. Or maybe I’m delusional. I’m supposed to hate him. He wrecked me. He wrecked me like nothing else ever has before. And I swore I could never forgive him for that, but in moments like these, the anger I need isn’t there. I need to hold onto it. If not for logic’s sake, then at least for my sanity.
The conflict stirs my anxiety and claustrophobia sets in. My throat narrows, and I can’t move my arms. I can’t get any oxygen into my lungs. My fingers claw at the collar, but I can’t find any goddamn buttons or zippers.
"Lola?"
"I can't breathe," I wheeze.
He reaches out and turns me in his arms, sliding his palm over my shoulder. It feels like an attempt to comfort me from someone who has never done it before.
“Christ,” he murmurs. “You’re turning red. Stay calm.”
I can’t stay calm, and it’s his fault. He should know that. I try to paw at the collar again, but Daire takes an alternative route by ripping open the back of the dress with his bare hands.
"Oh God," I pant. "This dress costs—"
"Who gives a fuck what it costs.”He holds me at arm's length."You don't have to do this, LB.”
He's probably imagining me ten years from now, in my bathrobe, surrounded by cats. Husbandless and childless.He feels sorry for me.For the mess that I am.It gives me the courage I need to hold my head high when I feel like doing anything but.
"It was just the champagne. I’ve had too much.”
He seems reluctant to leave the room like he wants to say more but doesn't. In the end, he steps outside, and we continue with the charade. I try on the clothes he picked out, and he gives the final say.
It's strange, having so much of Daire's attention on me.In the past, his glances were fleeting at best. To him, I was just Ryan’s awkward girlfriend.A nuisance he had to put up with, but one he didn’t like. I remember asking Ryan if Daire was jealous because I took up his time, and he laughed. He seemed to take pleasure in the idea. Daire barely spoke to me if he could help it. He was a brick wall. Cold and closed off. And even though there was a mystery about him I couldn’t deny, I wondered why Ryan spent so much time with him.
The memories are fuzzy now, but I know they were real. It seems like a lifetime ago, but so much of the past still lingers between us. It’s the only reason Daire’s here now. He wouldn’t be if he could help it. I’ve always known that, but it’s easy to forget when he’s staring at me. It terrifies me. And it thrills me. I have to remind myself who Daire is.
The jerk. The calculating and cynical tyrant I can’t stand to be around. The man who does this on the regular with god knows how many women.And once I get that thought in my head, it's hard to shake.He notices I've grown quiet when we check out, and he taps my arm to get my attention.
"Dinner?"
"Dinner?"I parrot.
"Yes," he answers. "It will be good practice. A guy should at least take you to dinner before he..."He clears his throat, and stops himself, his jaw flexing."I’m taking you to dinner, Lola."
I let him take me to dinner, and it’s ridiculous. I can’t even pronounce the name of the place
