I've switched clothes more times than I can count and right now I'm not even moderately satisfied with the appearance reflected back at me in the mirror. My make-up is perfect, my hair looks flawless, but the outfit isn't working.
I discard the shorts and beige tank onto my bed with the rest of my rejects and rifle through my closet for the next option. Half of it's currently on my bed. When I slip on a little black dress, the reason behind my fretting peers in through my cracked bedroom door.
Seth's dressed in a faded brown t-shirt and dark-washed jeans, looking effervescent in what I'm sure took three minutes. I know this because over the past two weeks I've learned a lot. I know it takes him twelve minutes to shower and be presentable for work. I know he prefers crime dramas with thought-provoking dialogue, but still sits with me as I wade my way through various romantic comedies. I know he enjoys the smell of vanilla because he's switched my wall plug-in back to the scent each time I've attempted to change it to lavender. I know the sound of me biting my nails as I work through a manuscript makes him want to smash his fists through walls. And I know when he smiles, it's genuine about ninety percent of the time.
I also know I'm completely, undeniably attracted to him. And the attraction isn't going away.
My roommate is many things-sweet, hilarious, and reliable (the last is supported by the full rent check I dropped off last week)-but available as an option for me is not one of them. He's still emotionally detached with his secrets padlocked, and at the end of the day he's still going to be the man I live with. Sex with him isn't an option.
However, it doesn't matter how often I give myself the rundown, my physical instincts overrule rationality. Which is why tonight needs to go well. That starts with the perfect outfit. With it, I can charm Bill's socks off and hopefully follow it with an ignition spark. I also need Seth to stop undressing me with his eyes from the doorway. My heart races as they rake their way up my legs and along my dress, lingering at my chest before settling at the column of my neck.
When his gaze finally meets mine, he clears his throat. "You ready yet? Marsha's waiting in a taxi downstairs and you know even better than I do you don't keep that girl waiting."
From past knowledge, she's two minutes away from stomping her butt up four flights of stairs and into my apartment to push me through the front door. It won't matter if I'm only sporting a bra and matching set of undies.
But I need to look perfect, and this lace-back dress isn't doing the trick. It's possible my breasts are sagging. "I need another minute."
"Ellie." He lifts my phone so I can read her text. "She's using all caps and if I have any shot at a peaceful evening, you're seriously shitting on it right now."
"Marsha will be fine." I attempt to undo my back zipper and fail to reach it.
"Stop changing your outfit like an indecisive teenager," he scolds, stepping into my room to clasp the button above my zipper. The contact sears my flesh and I resist the urge to close my eyes and lean further into his touch. "You could show up in a paper bag and still have this guy nutting in his pants."
"I think there was a compliment lurking in that statement."
"Listen to me 'cause I'm only gonna say this once. The guy would be a fucking imbecile not to be interested in you."
He looks at me through our reflection in the mirrors, his fingers lingering against the skin directly above the back of my dress. His eyes hood, just slightly, and I can't help but envision those fingers unclasping the button, lowering my zipper, replacing the contact with his mouth. It has my breath hitching.
"Bill," I say as a reminder to myself. "His name is Bill."
"Yeah, I know what his name is." His hands drop, leaving my skin as frigid as the scowl on his face. "Now grab your purse so I don't have to deal with Marsha's pissy mood for the rest of the evening."
We join Marsha in the cab, and I find it interesting that only one person seems to have a pissy mood. And it's not Marsha.
Thankfully, his mood transitions throughout the ride. The three of us slip into comfortable conversation for the twenty minutes it takes to arrive at Rita and Troy's apartment. It's located in a stone building in one of NYC's most coveted neighborhoods, Gramercy Park. We take a short elevator ride up to the third floor and after a single knock, Rita greets us at the door.
"Hey guys." She throws her arms around me in a hug before ushering me in.
"I'm so happy you could make it, Marsha. How long has it been?"
"Too long."
I breathe a sigh of relief at my friends' greeting, grateful they've unconsciously fed into my lie.
They hug and Seth steps through the door.
"And you must be Seth. It's nice to meet you."
He shoots her a mega-watt smile. "The pleasure's all mine."
Shutting the door behind her, Rita points around the lavish open floorplan apartment. "You can put your coats in the bedroom. Drinks are in the fridge and appetizers are on the coffee table."
I take the opportunity to walk down the hallway and dispose of my coat. When I re-emerge from the bedroom, I notice Troy talking to someone in the kitchen. Considering he's the only person here I'm unfamiliar with, I deduce he's my date.
Unlike Troy, with his duel sleeves of tattoos and shaved skull, Bill is clean cut. He's a looker, too. With a chiseled jawline, sculpted cheekbones, deep brown eyes that sparkle from across the room...
"He looks like a pole has been rammed up his ass."
Seth's standing behind me, his chest pressed against my back and his breath hot on my ear. My blood ignites beneath my skin, turning into molten lava. I hate that I'm powerless against his effects, but I do my best to control my infuriating body. That's only capable if I don't turn around.
"What?"
"He's stiff, and not just his posture." Seth's hand lands on my waist, threatening to obliterate my dwindling control. It's breaking and I'm slipping. There's too much contact. "Just look at his hair. Slicked back with gel, not a strand out of place." His breath fans my neck, tingles racing down my spine. I swallow. "It probably matches his 'straight-edge' lifestyle. It signifies he'll be waiting three weeks before screwing you in the missionary position."
"And I'm guessing yours would be categorized as rebellious?"
Seth steps around me, bringing the topic of our conversation into view. As opposed to Bill's perfectly-in-place sandy hair, Seth's is tousled. Wild. All I can think about is how primitive he must be between the sheets. My mouth waters.
"If the shoe fits." He shoots me a wink before walking away to rejoin the party, his fingertips skimming down my arm as he goes.
Ignoring the goosebumps he caused, I take a breath to calm my racing heart.
I need to focus on Bill.
He's my date and although I now fear the repercussions of someday running my hands through his pristine locks, I still find him attractive. Hopefully his personality matches the shell.
I walk over to him and introduce myself, finding it does. His hand shake is firm and his laughter at my jokes is comforting. And although Seth's assessment proves correct and he's a bit stiff at first, it eases with our flowing conversation.
"An editor is an impressive career. I wouldn't mind spending my days reading through new material." Bill lifts his beer bottle into the air. "Plus, you get access to advanced copies others are dying to get their eyes on."
Editorial assistant, I internally correct. Despite sending out at least twenty job inquiries since I'd made my deal with Seth, I've failed to receive a single email back. "Yeah, the job has its perks, but it can get exhausting. For every masterpiece, you have about fifty flops which never make it to shelves."
His eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Still sounds like a decent profession."
I laugh. "You say that now."
"Fine, we'll trade spots for a day," he offers, taking my hand in his. "You work in the hospital and I'll sit in your cubicle and chat with Rita all day."
Rita, who is not so inconspicuously standing three feet away from our conversation, shares a smile with Bill. She's tickled pink. Seth, on the other hand, turns around and puts his hand on my shoulder.
"That might not be the wisest choice, Doctor Bill. See, our girl here gets squeamish around blood. I nicked my neck shaving the other morning and she practically collapsed at the sight of it."
Blood rushes beneath my cheeks and before Bill has the chance to come to his own assumptions about Seth being in my apartment in the morning, I explain, "Bill, meet my roommate, Seth."
His eyes shift between Seth and me, widening in surprise. "You two live together?"
"Yeah." Seth smirks. "It's not awkward. At all."
But this conversation is.
However, Bill gracefully maneuvers through it. "And what do you do, Seth?"
"I brighten people's lives with my dazzling smile." It's set on high before he shrugs. "I also serve them their food."
Bill nods. "Which restaurant?"
"Pepolino. The one on West Broadway."
"Nice place," Bill says, snaking his arm around my waist. It causes Seth's hand to slip from my shoulder. "Maybe Ellie and I could come in for dinner sometime."
Did he just reference taking me on a date? Under different circumstances, this wouldn't be uncomfortable, but with Seth a step away and Bill insinuating we share a meal at his restaurant, I'm starting to feel cornered. A bead of sweat drips down my neck.
Seth's smile falters. "Sounds delightful." Actually, the way he says it sounds like he's just been punched in the junk.
The tension is thick. All I can focus on is how I seriously don't want to have Seth as our server when Bill takes me out for our date. I don't even want to stand here anymore. But Marsha swoops in like a knife, cutting through the tension. Grabbing Seth's arm, she says, "There you are."
"Only one step away from where I just was."
She brushes his remark off with a batting of her lashes. "Would you mind mixing me a drink? I'm parched."
After a brief pause, Seth sighs. "Sure. Ellie?"
I'm secretly wondering why Bill didn't offer. "Yeah. I'll have another. Thanks."
With a brief understanding smile, Seth steps away and starts mixing our drinks.
I'll admit, it's easier to breathe without his presence. It's also easier for Marsha to step forward and gush, "So this is the Bill my bestie has been dying to meet."
I widen my eyes at her lie. I've mentioned Bill to her once and by no means did I embellish my expectations or excitement. Now I don't only appear overly anxious, I also look desperate.
"I'm just kidding." She giggles before dropping the humor and stabbing a finger against Bill's chest. "She's an awesome chick and you're lucky to have a chance with her. You do her wrong and I'll remove your dick from your body. What the hell, I'll probably take the balls, too."
With a dazzling smile in place, she blows him a kiss and walks off to the living room, shouting, "I heard there'd be games at this shindig. Let's get 'em started."
To my shock, Bill laughs. "She's got spunk."
"That she does." Glancing at him, I realize she also has the focus of his eyes.