If there was something my mother and I never agreed on, it was clothes. She thought yellow was a fantastically bright color which reflected people’s inner happiness. I disagreed. She thought hanging a sweater around your neck and then tying the arms in front of your chest was the best idea anyone has ever had. I did not.
However, one particular, unresolved difference echoes in my mind as I smooth down the front of my outfit and scrutinize my appearance in the mirror.
“Cat, black is a color worn to funerals. It is not supposed to be worn on a day-to-day purpose.”
Is that true? If I wear black, will Sean think I’m some weird psycho chick who’s participates in ritual animal sacrifices? The only reason I even wear the stupid color is because I know it has a slimming effect, or so everyone says. And those stupid fashion magazines which I don’t have the patience to read claim you can always fall back on your Little Black Dress, and this is a little black dress.
After an attack of self-consciousness and a frantic phone call to Diane, I was told that the dress was perfect, hugged me in all the right places, and does have a slimming effect, ('Not that you need one', commented Diane, to which I replied, 'Whatever'). It’s a nice dress I suppose, with three quarter length sleeves and the neckline coming into a V shape around my cleavage. But I don’t wear it often. Muchos gracias to the revealing neckline: one false move and I fall out of it.
I quickly fasten this ridiculously chunky necklace around my neck and peer into the mirror one last time. The necklace is a blood red shade, so I am adding a little color. I decided to curl my hair a little tonight, but already I can see the bastard curls falling into frizzy waves. I’m not surprised; that always happens to me, despite the copious amounts of hair spray I liberally squirted into my brown locks.
I kept my makeup simple, because I know applying the colorful paint is not my forte. When I was a teenager and rebelling against my mother’s “natural beauty” theory, I would put on as much makeup as I could and ended up looking like a sad reject from the Rocky Horror Show. Instead of revisiting that particularly awful time, I just applied the usual foundation to hide my freckles, dusted my cheeks with blusher otherwise people will wonder whether I actually have a pulse, and finally, ran a slightly red color over my lips.
I look okay. Better than I normally do, obviously, but still not as great as Natasha, who I briefly encountered yesterday as she stopped by to drop off some stuff of Justin’s. I almost died when I greeted her in my not-so-flattering pajamas and saw she was donning a particularly attractive pair of tight jeans with a cute shirt. What made it even better was her sickeningly nice attitude towards me. “Hey Cat, how are you? Settling in well? Is there anything you need for your room?” I mean god, why doesn’t she just change her name to Mother Theresa. I spent yesterday bitterly stomping around the kitchen, trying to ignore the giggling that I could hear from Justin’s room and seeking solace in any food I could find. How come some people get everything, whereas other get nothing?
No, Cat, stop it. Do not reflect on yesterday, think about now. Sean is going to come by and pick you up, we will have a great time and everything will fall into place. Easy.
Pft. As if anything in my life was ever easy.
---------------------
She said yes.
She actually agreed to go on that stupid, ridiculous, pointless date with that ugly, stupid, asshole of a man, ‘Sean’.
Let’s ignore the fact I’ve never actually met the guy, and focus on the evidence.
1) He’s from Tennessee and not married or in a relationship, so he’s either gay or still living with his momma.
2) He’s a journalist. It is a well known fact male journalists are assholes. Don‘t ask me what backs up this statement; they just are.
3) He has this really masculine, deep voice which always seems calm. You know what they say, the placid ones are always the ones that end up killing everyone because they have so much suppressed anger.
4) Sean is a stupid name. Why? Because it is.
See? The guy is clearly not right for Cat. I actually ran a few of these interesting and thought provoking thoughts by Trace, but he didn’t seem interested. In fact, he laughed at me and said I was making shit up. He laughed, because I am being a good friend and protecting Cat. He’ll see. Cat will see. They’ll all see, and I’ll be the one that who was right all along.
I can hear heels clicking across the wooden floor of the hall and I quickly turn on the TV, trying to hide the fact I’ve been waiting to see what Cat’s wearing for her perilous meeting with Psycho Boy, otherwise known as a ‘date’.
I keep my focus fixed on the television, but hear the door creak open. I slightly cock my head to the side. “Hey Cat.”
She enters the room and sits on the couch, cautiously smoothing her dress so it doesn’t get crinkled. “Hi.”
“You all set for your…” I can barely say it, it disgusts me so much. “Date?”
“Yeah,” she says, and from the corner of my eye, I see her stretch her legs.
I finally turn my head so I can see her clearly. She looks nice, nicer than she usually does, with a tighter, more revealing outfit on and her hair slightly curlier than usual. Her makeup is different too, more obvious, slightly away from her usual brush of mascara and hints of foundation.
“You look nice,” I say awkwardly.
“Oh,” she blushes slightly and plays with the material of her dress. “Thanks.”
I smile at her and turn back to the TV. “So, what time is this guy supposed to pick you up?” See what I did there? “This guy”? I made it sound all casual, as though this wasn’t something I had been stressing about for the past few days, but just a minor detail in my otherwise full and exciting life. Very clever, Justin.
She shrugs. “At seven thirty, I think.”
I nod. If he’s late, I’ll cut him in half.
“How old is he?”
“Twenty four, twenty five.”
I immediately sit up straighter. “That’s quite a bit older than you.”
She nods. “Well, three years, yes.”
Shit. That’s three years more experience to perfect his suave, secretly immoral act on woman. Cat doesn’t stand a chance. It’s like sending a lamb out to the slaughter, this date. Wait a second, that means he’s a year or two older than I am. Is that why Cat likes him? Because he’s all mature and shit? Trace and I can be mature, when we want to be. Prick. He just always has to make people feel inferior, doesn’t he? In fact, let’s make that point five in my lovely little list.
“Do you think these shoes look okay?” she asks, stretching out her legs again.
I look over and see some black high heels. I don’t know, shoes all look the same to me. “Yeah, why?”
She shrugs. “I just realized my red stilettos might look better.”
I pause and gaze over her outfit. It’s mainly black, with splashes of red in her necklace and lipstick. “I think you should go with the red. It’ll match your jewelry stuff.”
She grins and quickly hops off the couch, and I can hear her heading up to her room to change her shoes. I turn back to the TV, trying to get engrossed in what I think is a pie-eating contest, when I hear Trace enter the room. After our little tiff the other day, we’re cool. Sometimes, we just have arguments about nothing, just to release some energy. If we didn’t, we’d probably end up killing each other.
“Hey man.”
“’Sup?”
“Where’s Cat?” he asks, sitting his short ass down on the couch, where Cat sat just a moment ago.
“She’s changing her shoes.”
“To what?”
I shrug. “Red stiletto thingies.”
Trace head snaps in my direction. “Are you being serious?”
I turn to look at him and frown. “Yeah, I said they would match her jewelry. What’s wrong with that?”
He snorts and leans back onto the couch. “Justin, what is the first thing that comes to mind when you see red shoes?”
That’s easy, sex. It’s common knowledge red shoes are a complete turn on for any red-blooded male, myself included.
Oh. Shit.
Trace laughs and relaxes into his seat. “Looks like Cat’s gonna get some of that, tonight.”
I find his rhyme less than amusing as I jump up off my seat. “Oh my god."
"What?" asks Trace, not taking his eyes off the TV.
"She can’t wear those!”
Trace shrugs and laughs at the TV. “Why not?” he asks distractedly.
“Because that asshole might try and get her into bed!”
Trace shrugs again. “So?”
My eyes widen at him. “What do you mean, so? Do you like the idea of Cat being seduced by some greasy hick?”
Trace turns to me with a confused look on his face. “I like the idea of Cat enjoying herself, but you obviously don’t.”
“If it involves being taken advantage of, then no, I don’t.”
Trace rolls his eyes at me. “Stop acting stupid Justin. Cat’s a big girl, she won’t let him take advantage of her.”
It amazes me that Trace is so calm and yet I’m almost steaming. “Trace, how can you be okay with the idea of someone sleeping with her?!”
Trace frowns. “Because I’m her friend, and I want her to be happy. If having sex makes her happy, then so be it. Hell Justin, she doesn’t say anything about you and Natasha’s loud activities.”
I try to calm my unsteady breathing. “I know,” I mumble, sitting back down.
“And it’s not like Cat is some virginal nun about to embark on a innocence-snatching adventure with Hugh Hefner of something. Anything that she does with Sean she’s done before.”
I shrug and prefer not to think about Cat‘s sexual history. “Yeah, I guess.” I remain silent for a moment. “But you don’t think she will, do you? I mean, after all, it’s just their first date.”
Trace groans loudly and runs a hand through his wavy hair. “I don’t know, Justin! I doubt it, okay?”
I smile and relax into my seat, his comment calming me. “No, she definitely won’t sleep with him.”
Trace rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to ask why you care so much,” he mutters under his breath.
“What was that?” I ask, leaning forward.
Before he can reply, the doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of the asshole that is Sean. I quickly jump up, eager to match my various slanderous names to a face.
I swing the door open with a slight smirk on my face, ready to witness the complete disaster standing on my doorsteps. I can’t wait.
Fuck.
He’s handsome, very handsome in fact.
Fuck.
He’s got a naturally big, muscular physique that must draw girls to him like a moth to a flame.
Fuck.
He’s holding out a rose, which I know will make Cat swoon, even if she tries her best not to.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He looks at me and frowns. “Um, hi. I don’t think I’ve come to the right place.”
This is your chance Justin, say that there is no Cat living with you and then get security on his ass. “Are you Sean?”
He nods. “Yeah, I’m here to pick up Cat?”
I open the door and allow him inside. “You’re in the right place, don’t worry.”
He smiles and holds out his hand. “Sean Reeves.”
“Justin Timberlake,” I reply, shaking it.
His nose crinkles slightly, and I can see he’s not a fan. “Yeah, I know. My sister is an enthusiast.”
I nod and plaster on a fake grin. “Well, Cat should be down any second.”
He nods and looks at his surroundings, clearly desperate to fill the silence that has settled between us. “Cat never mentioned she lived with…um…”
“She just moved recently,” I say, already feeling a little sting at the fact Cat failed to mention who she lived with. If they’re such, ‘great friends’, surely my name would have cropped up in one of their intellectual conversations? Unless Cat is ashamed to talk about me. Ouch.
Trace suddenly saunters into the hall. “Trace Ayala,” he says, holding out his hand to Sean.
“Sean Reeves,” he replies, smiling casually at him. Shit, I don’t see any missing teeth. But ah ha, his teeth fail to have the same sparkle to them that mine have. Justin--one, Sean, zero!
“So, you work with Cat?” says Trace, and I envy his ability to make friends with someone he’s just met.
Sean nods. “Yeah. I’ve been working up the courage to ask her out for a little over a month, now.”
Trace chuckles. I don’t. “She is a tough cookie.”
“I’ll just go get Cat,” I mumble, excusing myself from budding friendship. Why Trace is being so nice to Sean confuses me, but I let it slide. I quickly run upstairs and knock on Cat’s door.
“Come in.”
I let myself in. “Your date’s here.”
“Okay.” She straightens herself and steps away from her mirror, before turning to me. “How do I look?”
I take in her suddenly desirable appearance. Stop it, Timberlake. She doesn’t even look that stunning, so stop acting like she’s suddenly the image of perfection. “You look lovely,” I mumble unwillingly.
She smiles. “Thank you. What do you think of the shoes?”
I glance down at her feet and see some high heeled, rather sexy shoes. “Very nice.”
She grins, before grabbing her purse from her bureau. “As long as I don’t trip up in them. Let’s go.”
We walk down together, and are greeted by the image of Trace and Sean laughing heartily together. Traitor.
As soon as he hears the creak on the stairs, Sean’s eyes dart up to search for Cat. We slowly descend, our every move being watched by Sean and Trace. I don’t fail to see the steady eye contact shared by Sean and Cat, and I’m tempted to walk in front of her to break it.
“Hi,” says Cat in a dreamy voice I’ve never heard her use.
“Hi,” replies Sean’s irritatingly smooth tone. I would love it if he got laryngitis. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you,” she blushes and I feel something stir inside of me. I’m the one that makes her blush, nobody else. “So do you.”
Urgh, please, can someone just kill them before this mutual appreciation forces me to hang myself?
“You look wonderful, Cutie,” comments Trace, beaming at her.
She twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “Thank you.”
“When are you guys going to be back?” I suddenly ask.
Cat frowns slightly. “Um, I’m not sure.”
“If it’s going to be late, will you call?”
Trace hits my arm and I turn to him. I know I’m treating her like a child, but I figure if I make her feel guilty enough, she’ll definitely not sleep with him and be back at our place by ten.
“Um, okay,” she replies. She suddenly catches sight of the rose in Sean’s hand. “Oh, Sean!”
I roll my eyes but go unnoticed by anyone but Trace, who hits me again. I've sent her flowers before. I bet she liked mine better than that weed Sean has just presented her with. I bet this is all part of his devious plan to get into her pants, jackass. Deep down, I know Cat isn't like that, but I just wish I had some reassurance.
Wait a second, the key to figuring out a girl’s desires lie in her underwear. Stop smirking, it’s true. If it’s sexy, that means she expects something to happen. If it’s not, then nothing will. I’ve never seen Cat’s underwear, I wouldn’t even be able to tell you what she wears on a day to day basis, but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing too wild. Hey, maybe I could look for panty lines when she turns round, that would narrow out the possibility of thongs.
Oh shit, first I was worrying about her shoes, now I’m worrying about her underwear. All you need to do is slap a few sexual harassment cases on me and you’ve got a grade A sicko.
This is all Sean’s fault.
---------------------------------------
I like Sean. A lot.
I practically melted when he handed me the rose, and when he opened my car door for me, and when he said I looked amazing. I don’t usually get called amazing, but I’ve decided I like it.
Sean has proved to be a wonderful companion. He’s been polite, courteous and complimentary, and we’re only half way through our date. Due to Sean’s never ending knowledge, much of our conversation has been full of facts and observations of life. As interesting as they are, I’m finding myself drift away from the conversation to stare at random parts of him that I never noticed before. It’s terrible, really. Here is this man, an incredibly intelligent man providing wonderful conversation, and all I can do is wonder what he looks like without his top on.
“If everything we’ve done in life is a parody of what we’ve done before, then isn’t life a parody in itself?”
“That’s true,” I say vaguely, dreamily admiring his perfect hair.
He laughs. “Or maybe I’ve just had too much time to think about things.”
I chuckle. “Not at all. I’m sorry, my head’s still spinning from the idea that one day, robots could outsmart us.”
He shrugs. “Watch the Matrix, honey. You’ll know what I mean.”
I laugh and allow a waiter to take away my empty plate. “So, when do you want to start working on the abortion article?”
He shrugs. “Anytime you want. But I don’t want to talk about work. I brought you here with particularly unrelated work interests in mind.” He grins and I I blush slightly, which seems to encourage him as he leans across the table and whispers seductively into my ear, “Such as passionately pushing you up against your front door and kissing you until you succumb and invite me inside, so we could get down to the nasty.”
He sits back down and his broad grin lets me know he was teasing me, but that there was also a hint of suggestiveness in his voice that makes me raise an eyebrow and smirk at him.
“Play your cards right, and maybe I will.” Of course, I’m not serious, but it’s fun to play along.
He laughs and refills our wine glasses. “Tease,” he mutters.
I laugh and sip my wine. “Sorry Sean, but it takes more than dinner to get me to ‘get down to the nasty’, as you so eloquently put it.”
He chuckles deeply. “I know, I was only kidding.”
It’s been so long since I so shamelessly flirted with someone I almost forgot how good it feels. Sexual innuendos are flying across the table, but with Sean I feel comfortable with them, because I know he doesn’t expect anything to come from them.
“So, you never mentioned the superstar under your roof.”
I shrug. “I never felt the need to. I’m not involved in that side of his life, so sometimes I sort of forget about it. I just know it’s not something I should flaunt around.”
He nods. “How long have you known him?”
“A few months. We were just friends but when Diane moved in with her boyfriend, I decided to move out and Justin offered me a home with him.”
“That was kind of him,” comments Sean, playing with the stem of his glass.
I nod. “It was.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Do you wanna get out of here? Take a walk?”
“Sounds great,” I say, already reaching behind me to get my coat.
He pays so quickly I can’t even argue to share the cost, and soon we’re strolling through the dark streets of Tennessee, our hands brushing against one another until they finally join, but neither of us said a word.
The strange thing about dating someone who was previously a friend is that you’re sort of thrust into third or fourth date realms when you’re just on your first, because you know the person already. I couldn’t ask Sean about his family or job, or where he grew up. He is a Tennessee native, he has one younger sister and I already know plenty about his job. I've asked all these questions before, I can't do it again.
Suddenly, a feeling of worry washes over me. We walk in comfortable silence, but is it really comfortable, or is it just because we have nothing to talk about? It would make things incredibly awkward if it turned out we were just flirty friends with no relationship in the future.
But what really confuses me is why I'm here in the first place. Sean is clearly gorgeous. Even Justin can barely reach up to his standard of handsomeness. So what is he doing asking me out? I know plenty of girls around the office repeatedly tried to hook up with him, and almost all of them were unsuccessful.
“Sean, can I ask you something?”
His head cocks sideways to look at me. “Go ahead, doll.”
“When was the last time you went on a date?”
He pauses. “About…two months ago. I’ve been busy with work,” he explains.
I nod. “When was the last time you were asked out onto a date?”
He blushes. “Yesterday, by that Veronica girl from publishing.”
I nod. Veronica-the office bombshell. “Did you accept?”
He frowns and shakes his head. “No.”
“Why not?” I ask, eyes widening.
“Because she’s not my type,” he replies simply. “Can I ask you why we are talking about who else I could be dating when I’m on a date with you?”
I blush and shrug, scuffing my feet slightly on the sidewalk. “It’s just…I don’t understand why you asked me out. Let’s face it, you could do so much better.”
Shit, why did I blurt that out? Now he probably thinks I’m some awfully insecure freak who dabbles in self harm. Well, he's only 50% right.
To my surprise, he merely shakes his head slightly and smiles. “Why are women so insecure about everything?”
“It’s in our genetic structure.”
"Do I actually need to give you a reason for asking you out?"
I giggle slightly and nod. "Yeah, and make it a good 'un."
His smile has faded to a frown. “Cat, I wanted to take you out because you're a funny, intelligent, pretty girl who I have a lot in common with and, quite frankly, men would be crazy not to want you."
My mouth drops open and I look for signs of sarcasm in his voice, only to find none. “I…um…I…”
He suddenly stops walking and gently grasps my arm, halting my movements as well. He gazes at me for a second, the moon casting light on his emerald green eyes, causing them to glitter as they scan my face. Before I can comprehend what is happening, his padded lips are softly pressed against mine. I hesitate at first, before my hand slips around his neck and into the mass of black hair as my lips slowly respond to his. The dusty cogs that have been still since I was last kissed are slowly brought to life as his tongue dances along my lower lip, before I finally surrender to the kiss and allow him more access.
After a few moments, we separate, our foreheads resting against each other as our slightly fastened breathing slows to a normal pace. His eyes land on my feet.
“Nice shoes,” he says, quietly.
We both begin to giggle and I make a mental note to thank Justin.
Justin. The name begins to echo in my mind.
Justin, the guy who I have unwittingly fallen for. Justin, the guy who had a slightly protective edge tonight, when Sean picked me up. Justin, the guy who plays with my emotions without even realizing it.
Justin, the guy who, even after an amazing kiss from an amazing man, I still can't get off my mind.
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