Wrong Side Of The Bed

39 | i've got issues, but you got 'em too.

"You're so… paradoxical. You blush when I flirt in public, and then you say the most seductive things when we are alone," I mused, flagging the waiter with a wave of my hand. "I dig it, actually."

"Being a paradox is being interesting," He added with a shrug. "I concur."

The waiter arrived at our table after a whooping seven minutes and fifteen seconds, according to Sinclair, and we placed our usual orders. As soon as the waiter was gone, I turned to Sinclair.

"So, spill."

He looked up at me from the menu card, perplexed. "Spill… what? Water?"

My mouth twitched with a held-in laugh. "No, idiot. Spill the beans. I know you called me here to tell me something."

"Could I not just have called you here because I wanted to spend some time with you?"

"No, if spending time with me alone were the case, you'd have either called me to drop by your house, or you'd have come to my house itself. Either you wanted to try something new on the menu here, or you had something else you wanted to do with me. Seeing that there's nothing new on the menu that you ordered, then it must be the latter. So tell me, Sinclair, what have you got planned?" I cocked my head at him. "And more importantly," I said, sliding a hand down the collar of my coat. "Am I dressed properly for it?"

I observed as his eyes danced over my figure, taking in my outfit. I had slipped on a black silk shirt over a black cotswool warmer to keep the cold out, and had slipped into a grey melange solid bouclé a-line skirt that ended mid-thigh. To top off the look, I had gone with a matching grey melange solid bouclé cropped jacket with cute little lapels and faux pockets. To keep my legs warm, I had turned to my trusty black tights over warmers, and as far as my shoes were concerned — they were just a pair of baby pink platform heels. Since my outfit wasn't anything groundbreaking today and I had felt a little glamorous, I had opted for a pair of mismatched, statement earrings today — a small light pinkish pearl-drop earring on the left ear, and a chain drop earring in the other, with a little pinkish pearl at the end of it. To tie my outfit together, I had gone for a carnation-pink colored mini silk scarf wrapped around my neck and neatly tucked into my shirt, and a shell-pink handbag. 

"Your outfit is for the New York fashion week, not for a dingy café," Sinclair exclaimed. "But goddamnit, I have never seen someone as put-together as you, I must say."

"Thank you, I take all of what you said as a compliment," I added, nodding. I tried to be as subtle as possible when my eyes perused Sinclair's outfit — but I had clearly failed, judging by the mirthful glint in his eye.

"Like what you see?" He inquired cheekily, doing a show of running a hand slowly down the lapel of his blazer. He was dressed in all brown hues — except his shirt, which was a crisp white. The top two buttons were undone and I'd be lying if I said that my eyes didn't stop there for an extra second. He had paired the shirt with mocha-coloured trousers, a black belt, and a chocolate-brown blazer. The blazer had flashy little rusty-gold buttons that instantly drew my attention. I hadn't missed the fact that Sinclair had swapped his usual silver plated watch for a black leather watch with gold finishes, and had slipped into a pair of black loafers. He had even taken the courtesy to put on gold jewelry today, as evident in the rings, the bracelet and the minimalist necklace that adorned his neck. 

"Brown and gold, a very endearing but overlooked combination," I commented, my gaze on him approving and impressed. "I see someone put in a bit of effort while dressing up today."

"I knew I was going to be judged by Divagirl, so I tried to be as ready for battle as I could be." 

That earned a laugh from me. "But seriously, do you only own clothes in beige, black and brown? Do I need to take you shopping?"