Page 10 of Collars & Kittens
The caffeine finally wakes me up, and as I watch Agnes nibble on her food, I can feel my anxiety building. There’s a huge disconnect between the woman I am now and the woman I used to be before my breakup, and I’m afraid of making a horrible choice again. How can I ever trust myself to know a good guy from a bad one after what happened with Ben? What if Dalton is an asshole who wants to fuck a twenty-four-year-old and he doesn’t care about my pleasure? He could be another Ben in disguise for all I know.
Wait, what if Dalton doesn’t actually want to fuck me? I’m being a little presumptuous here.
Jesus, this damn date tonight has me in a tailspin. One minute I’m excited and euphoric, and the next I’m freaking out. Maybe I shouldn’t have entered the contest, but my brain was overcome with lust. All I could think about was getting Dalton in bed. I never thought about what would happen if he rejects me—the embarrassment and humiliation of that. Ugh.
When my phone vibrates on the counter, I glance at the screen to see Sierra’s name flash across the front. Of course she’d call now.
I pick up the phone. “Good morning!”
I’m aiming for cheery but fall short of the mark.
She answers me in her usual bubbly tone. “Hi there! Are you excited about your big date?”
Ugh. Why did I enter the contest? How did I convince myself this was a smart idea?
“Yeah,” I mutter half-heartedly. “I can’t wait.”
“Uh oh, what’s the matter?”
Sierra sounds concerned. Damn her and her sixth sense about me.
“It’s...” I pause, debating how honest I should be. “What if he’s not interested?”
“Liv, seriously. If you’re having second thoughts about dating again, then cancel. No one is forcing you to go tonight.”
Sierra is great for calling me on my bullshit. She’s the bestest friend a girl could ask for, but damn it, she doesn’t have to be so insightful all the time.
“You’re right,” I grumble, wishing she wasn’t.
“Of course I’m right,” she chirps brightly. “Now, tell me what you’re wearing tonight.”
God, she knows me too well. I run down my plans for my outfit, and after chatting with her for a while, I feel a little calmer. Tonight isn’t a big deal. I’m going to have fun, and who cares what happens afterwards?
To prepare for the date, I take a long, indulgent bath, letting the hot water and the scent of a lavender bath bomb soothe away any lingering anxiety. I emerge feeling refreshed.
The afternoon passes quickly, and when it’s time to get ready, I’m surprised to find my excitement and desire have returned after my doubts earlier.
The dress I plan to wear is a short pink number that’s both elegant and alluring. I want to appear interested but not too eager—let’s pretend my slutty answer in the application never happened—and I can’t resist the chance to flaunt my legs, my best asset.
Realizing I only have 30 minutes before he’s due to pick me up, I hurriedly slip on my pink lace bra and panty set. I’m feeling sexy and more confident with every piece of clothing I put on. When my hair and makeup are flawless, I slide on a pair of strappy high heels—another nodto my best feature because they make my calves look stellar. The last ritual is a spritz of my favorite vanilla-scented perfume. I’m ready.
The doorbell rings, and my heart pounds as I open it. Dalton stands in front of the door, and his broad shoulders and chiseled jawline make my body sing. Mmm, I want him. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and his blue eyes shine with excitement. His outfit is casual yet stylish—fitted jeans and a gray polo shirt that’s unbuttoned at the top.
A small smile plays on his lips, and he’s holding a stuffie of a white owl in one hand. I freeze in shock, and my heart melts. I can’t lift my eyes from the stuffed animal. What am I going to name it?
“Hello, Olivia,” he says, his voice resonating with a warmth that makes me quiver in delight.
All of a sudden, I remember where we are and that it must seem like an eternity since I opened the door.
I blink at him. “Hey, you’re right on time,” I manage to reply though once again, he dazzles me and makes it hard to speak.
He gives me an appreciative, sweeping glance. “You look...wow. And you smell wonderful, too.”
I pluck at the neckline of my dress nervously. “Thank you. You clean up well yourself.”
There’s a moment of silence, and I resist the urge to reach for the owl. I keep my voice teasing and hopeful. “Is that for me?”
I know it is since there’s no other reason he’d bring it. It’s so unexpected and sweet.
