I added a touch of Victoria Secret shimmer powder to my cheeks as a finishing touch. I stepped back and looked at myself in the full-length mirror. Meg's dress fit perfectly. It hugged my chest snug enough to add some perkiness and cleavage, but not tight enough to cause overspillage. Beneath my bust, the black fabric hung loose enough for breathing room, and tight enough to show off my Cuban curves. The silver strap stood out against my tan shoulder, sparkling against the slinky black fabric. It fell to mid-thigh, almost too short for the fancy restaurant we were going to, but not short enough to be mistaken for a prostitute.
I'd wanted to straighten my hair, but Cayden and I hadn't given ourselves enough time to get ready, so I let my hair dry naturally after my shower. When my hair was long, this would have been a disaster, frizzing every which way, curling in some parts, wavy in others, almost completely straight underneath. But chopping off those 14 inches made a world of difference. Now I just had to jump out of the shower, run a brush through it, throw one bobby pin in to secure my bangs in the side-swooping position, and let it go. The longer layers in the front spiraled loosely, almost touching my shoulders. And the rest of it curled and waved in just the right ways. And that night, it looked perfect.
Smokey eyeshadow, mascara, and a little bit of shimmer completed the look. The only thing that could go wrong with the outfit was the heels. When I signed up for my first pole dancing class a few weeks before, my instructor emailed me and said, "Bring a pair of heels, and we'll see you there!" I don't wear heels. When I do, I walk like a football player, and within an hour I get a pinch in my second toe so painful that it stops me in my tracks and also leads to numbness. So then I limp and look like a crippled football player. Not to mention, I'm already 5'8" and any taller than that borders on Amazon Woman-esque. I tore apart my shoe closet looking for heels, but all I had were knee-high gray boots that sure as hell didn't scream, "Sex Goddess." I also only had $20 to play with until payday, so I needed a cheap solution, pronto. After work that day, I stopped at Rainbow, the cheapest, skankiest store I could think of. All of their heels were buy one get one 1/2 off. I tried on 16 pairs of heels until my toes were so numb it felt like I was walking on stumps. Everything under $20 was downright hideous. My only other option was Ross. That's where I found my $12 pair of 4-inch heels. I couldn't walk in them, but they were the only ones that didn't scream, "I'm a poor skank bag," as loud as the others. That night at pole dancing class I was in so much pain I thought I was going to have to amputate my feet, but I knew they'd look perfect with Meg's dress.
I'd try to describe what they look like, but they sound more hideous than they actually are. So here's a picture:
I zipped up the sides of them and used the kitchen counter to balance myself while I stood. My freshly pedicured toes peeped through the peep hole, and my feet were already going numb. Well, I guessed I'd have to hang onto Cayden a little tighter that night.
Just then, he rounded the corner into the living room. I looked up from my aching feet and almost fell back at the site of him. He looked so sexy I wanted to rip his crisp button-down shirt open and yank his freshly-ironed "trousers" off of him and go at it right there. I probably would have if my feet would have allowed for such movement. Instead I just stood there, gawking at him. His dark gray pants fit snug on his narrow waist and perfect ass, but fell loose enough to his ankles that he didn't look overly European. It looked like he'd even ironed the collar of his white shirt, and left the top button undone revealing enough of his perfect chest to drive me crazy. The shirt was tucked into the pants, and a brown belt finished the look. I couldn't believe the man standing in front of me was mine. How did I get so lucky.
Then I noticed his jaw had dropped as well.
"Wow," he said, his eyes scanning me from pain-inducing heel to air-dried spiral. "You look..." he stopped, searching for the right word. "You look...absolutely stunning."
He closed the distance between us before I could return the compliment. He stopped just short of me, his hands on my hips, holding me out so he can get a full view again. Then he pulled me into his arms and planted the sweetest kiss on me, my hands on the sides of his face. His cheeks were perfectly smooth, freshly shaven. He smelled like Ax deodorant and Abercrombie Fierce and soap. He smelled like Cayden. I wanted to breathe that scent forever.
But he finally pulled away and looked down at me. With my extra 4 inches, he didn't have to look down far.
"And you look absolutely stunning yourself," I said. I couldn't think of any other word to describe it. Beautiful sounded too feminine and gorgeous didn't sound genuine enough. But I was actually stunned when I saw him, so stunning seemed appropriate. It was the same feeling I'd had that day I left London, when Cayden was all dressed up for work. Yes, that was the same day I freaked out and almost shattered his heart into a million pieces. My bad.
*At Zee's request below, here's a picture of the dress. But that's not me. That's my baby sister Meg rockin the dress last New Years Eve