Carolina Days: Yesterday's Half Truths Part 27

Even knowing all of this, why can't I stop editing the pictures I post? Why is the approval of this anonymous swell of followers so addictive to me?

Before Luke, altering the way I looked, virtually, made sense. I was both my judge and jury, and could rationalize not stopping. The attention, though virtual, kept me from feeling lonely.

I've been alone for so long. It was my normal, my existence. I was content. Luke changed that. I'm lonely when he's not with me.

Before Luke, my greatest fear had been my followers finding out the truth about me. Now it's him changing his mind about how he claims to feel about me.

We're going slowly, painfully slow. It's within my power to increase the pace but my hesitation is born from an unrealistic fear of a repeat of what happened to me before. Luke is not that guy. What scares me most is I had thought Marc or Hank, or whoever the h.e.l.l he is, was a good guy too.

He had taken more than just my virginity; he had taken my ability to trust. Luke is slowly but surely giving that back to me. If he took it away, I'm certain I would never trust again.

That doesn't stop my body from reacting whenever he's near. His rule of three seems to be as hard for him as it is for me. I want him to touch me, to prove physically his attraction to me. Having to initiate contact three separate times before he will is terrifying. What if, when I go to kiss him, he turns away?

Logically, I don't think he would, but knowing that and doing it are two different things. He is so different from other guys. At least I think he is. I only have TV shows and romance novels to go by. In half of the books I've read, the male heroes are alpha to the core, taking what they want.

Because Luke doesn't grab me and kiss me senseless, does it mean he doesn't want to?

I lift one of the dresses I laid out on my bed and hold it in front of me. It's a subtle cheetah print in grays with a full to right above the knee skirt.

In books, guys would take one look at a woman, growl 'you're mine', and then push her up against a wall and have his way with her. There's a good chance if Luke did that with me, I'd faint; but if I didn't, I'm pretty sure I'd like him to have his way with me.

All we are doing right now, other than our perfect dance is holding hands or hugging. I lay the dress down and pick up another, a basic little black dress and remember our last hug.

His arms had cinched around me so tightly. My face buried in his neck. I wanted to sneak my tongue out and taste him. I wanted to swivel my hips against his thigh.

I'm a twenty-eight year old woman dreaming of dry humping the guy I like.

I have two hopes, either I can grow a pair and kiss him or he will get sick of waiting and kiss me.

I hold a third option up against myself; it's a deep red silk dress with a ballet style skirt. It's daring and exactly what I should be wearing. This dress demands attention. Posting a picture of myself wearing it online, in the bubble of my own home, is one thing. Can I wear something this attention grabbing when all I truly want to do is hide?

I gently lay it back down on my bed and step back to look at the three dresses I've narrowed my decision down to. The print is fun and interesting. The top is a sleeveless sheath that comes almost up to my neck in the front and a slight angled deep plunge in the back. The black dress is fitted, flattering, and been done before. Every woman needs a little black dress but my gut is telling me I needed to wear something different.

Lastly, the red dress; the only thing holding me back is my own lingering insecurities. I could close my eyes and picture how perfect it would look. I'd pair it with nude platform wedges and go light with my makeup, save matching red lipstick. The obvious hairstyle would be a messy bun, high on the top of my head.

Wearing it down might be the only way I'd be brave enough to do it though. My long hair could be my s.h.i.+eld, acting as a cape to cover the wide expanse of bare back this dress would expose.

If there is one dress that could make Luke forget his rule of three, this is it.

I drop my towel and pull the red dress on. The silk kisses my skin as I step into my bathroom. I'll let my full-length mirror be the judge. If this dress can make me feel beautiful with wet hair and no makeup, I will wear it.

For some reason, I close my eyes as I reach the mirror, needing a moment of internal reflection before bearing witness to the external. I remind myself confidence comes from within; that I need to believe in myself, and my right to a place in this world before anyone else will. As much as fas.h.i.+on can be dictated by the ma.s.ses, I also have to, for once, care only about what I think.

Lifting my lids, I concentrate on myself. As I focus on my perceived flaws, I stop and allow myself to see the results of all my hard work. Perfection is a myth.

It is in this moment, I decide the next picture I post will be untouched. I will never truly feel comfortable in my own skin until I do that. Tilting my head, I grin at myself, red dress it is.

My moment of achieving personal clarity is cut short when I glance back into my bedroom and see the time display on my cable box. Luke will be here in one hour whether I'm ready or not. Apparently, self-reflection and personal epiphanies take longer than I thought.

One pro to the lack of time is I can't hem or haw over what to do with my hair. A messy bun takes the least amount of time and makes the most sense with the dress. Might as well go for it. Like they say, if you're going to be a bear, be a grizzly.

I change into a light robe while I do my hair and makeup. It would be a disaster of epic proportions to accidently mess up my dress before I even get a chance to wear it. I dry my hair first; letting it hang loose while I do my face.

I knew someday all of the makeup tutorials I had perfected would come in handy. That moment is now and the quick, sure handed application its result. I use every trick in my a.r.s.enal, like, once my deep red lipstick is applied with a perfect cupid's bow I brush translucent powder through a piece of tissue paper across them to lock the color in.

Dry skin would be a huge faux pas so I slather myself from neck to toe with lightly scented lotion and air dry before slipping on my dress. The poofed ballet skirt makes panty lines a non-issue. So even though I'm certain no one will see them but me, I step in to the s.e.xiest pair of panties I own. Also red, this pair is mainly sheer with a silver heart dangling from a short chain under a little red bow.

The bow sits on my waistline at the back, safely below my exposed back. There's a dip on the fabric where the heart sits and I can feel it, cool against my skin as I move. I want to feel s.e.xy and these help. Not knowing for sure if we will be dancing or standing for a long time, I'm confident with my shoe selection.

The height is lengthening and makes my calves look fab. They're also comfy so it's a win-win. I rock my comic strip inspired clutch since it's always fun to throw a patterned piece in with a solid colored outfit.

After talking to Luke, I decided to book a room at the hotel where the reunion is being held. It will be my happy place if things get rough. I throw a couple of things and a change of clothes into an overnight tote.

Am I ready?

I dash into my spare bedroom and snap a couple of pictures of myself. I might be able to post- My thought is interrupted by a knock on my door. He's here. Oh G.o.d, he's here. Frozen, I start to panic. What was I thinking wearing this dress? Why didn't I do that liquid cleanse? What will he think of me?

"Lindsay, stop stalling and come answer the door," Luke booms.

I can't help it, I grin and in doing so I catch my reflection in the mirror of my spare bedroom.

I look happy. I am happy.

Squaring my shoulders, I grab my clutch and march to my front door.

"Lind-"

His sentence is cut off as I open the door. Even with his mouth hanging open, Luke looks edible. Time pa.s.ses before either of us speaks. I'm tongue tied taking in the walking stick of man candy before me. There's an expression that a man in a well-fit suit affects a woman, the way a woman in lingerie affects a man.

It makes me want to stock up so that I may someday return the favor. He is without a doubt the s.e.xiest man I have ever seen. The suit somehow amplifies his already killer good looks. His strong jaw, stronger, his green eyes, greener, the reaction my body is having to him makes me lightheaded.

He's the first to break the silence. "You are exquisite."

My cheeks feel as red as my dress. "Thank you. You look..."

I scramble to find a word that can describe what I think but I'm only coming up with made up words like hubamazing and glorisome.

"Lickable."

I gasp, as his grin turns wolfish. "You want to lick me?"

Stepping into my house, he closes the door behind him and reaches out his hand for mine. He steps back until his back is flush against the door, gently tugging me toward him.

"Do you want to kiss me?" he asks, whisper soft at my ear as he drops my hand and rests both of his on my hips.

His face turns until we're almost nose to nose thanks to my wedges.

"Is not knowing if I want to kiss you back, what's kept you from doing it?"

I can't speak and hope he can somehow read the answer in my gaze. He raises one of his hands to my lips and gulps as he gently brushes the pad of his finger against my lower lip.

"I've dreamt about your lips on mine. Early on, the way they distracted me was my first clue that I wanted to be more than your friend."

Stunned, I can't help but wonder how long.

"It's okay if you're not ready. I'd never rush you, but I want you to know, I'm ready whenever you are."

Mimicking his earlier movement, I lift my hand and with my finger touch his lip.

"I want to kiss you," I breathe.

His body tenses, fingers flexing as they grip my hips.

He eyes hold mine as he wets his lips. "Kiss me."

Reaching up, I hold on to his shoulders and softly brush my lips across his.

I pull back ever so slightly. "One."

His eyes widen as I move back toward him, this time pressing my lips more firmly to his before pulling back. "Two."

Before I can kiss him the third time, he speaks, "This time, kiss me how you want to be kissed."

I act before my brain can stop me. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I close my eyes as I press my lips to his. Tracing the seam of his lips with my tongue, I'm rewarded as his mouth opens. I taste him for the very first time and stand by lickable as the best way to describe him. His arms are locked around my waist as I kiss him.

He tastes like peppermint and happiness. I smile against his lips wondering if I've ever felt as alive as I do in this moment. Subconsciously, I notice he isn't really kissing me back. It feels heavenly to me, but other than his arms tightening around me and him opening his mouth to mine, he isn't doing anything. Am I doing it wrong?

I pull back, opening my eyes to peer at him. His eyes are still closed and then slowly open as I watch him.

His lips stretch into a s.e.xy-as-sin grin. "My turn," is all says before he slants his head and crashes his lips to mine.

He was paying attention to the way I had just kissed him. The movements are the same without any of my hesitancy. His kiss is a full body experience. My toes curl in my shoes as he pulls me impossibly closer to him, dipping me backward.

He is consuming me, sucking my tongue back into his mouth. I'm not out of breath but still light headed. As far as I am concerned, we can skip the reunion altogether as long as his lips never leave mine again.

I thread my fingers into his soft hair. Luke is kissing me. For some reason mid act, I need to remind myself. If there is one person on this planet who knows my hang-ups, it's him. He isn't just kissing me; his whole body is sending a message to my insecurity-riddled brain that he wants this.

He wants me.

Perfection.

She is perfection, for me. My lips on hers, my arms tightly wrapped around her and I am more turned on than I have ever been. I'm the tuning fork set to her song. There is a decent chance that if I don't stop kissing her, I'm going to embarra.s.s myself. It's a war within me to lift my head.

My eyes are open, searching her face for a reaction as I straighten both of us. Her eyes flutter open; her lips barely parted leaving me aching to taste them again. No one else has ever felt this right in my arms. I never want to let her go. Because- I love her.

She's shaking. Did I go too far?

I pull her close as an excuse to keep my arms around her. "Are you all right?"

She nods, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Her eyes widen. "Now?"

I grin. "If I kiss you again right now, we might not make it to the reunion. I meant later."

Her blush deepens as she nods. I have to get us out of this house.

"I'm afraid I may have kissed off your lipstick." I cringe, hoping she isn't upset.

She surprises me by laughing. "I'll bet you did. Give me a sec to reapply."

She reaches for a small bag on the back of her sofa and walks toward her bedroom. Coco lifts her head as she pa.s.ses.

"h.e.l.lo, kitty." I reach down to scratch her behind her ear.

We've formed a cautious friends.h.i.+p. She's cool with me as long as I don't try to pet her stomach. I raise my head as Lindsay walks back out of her room. It was before my time, but I remember hearing a song once about a lady in red. As she approaches me, I can't help but feel lucky.

Her lips are again the kissable red they were when I arrived. Before, I couldn't have known the pa.s.sion hidden within her.

"I packed a bag to leave in the room. Is that silly?" she asks as she reaches me.

I follow her eyes to the tote bag sitting on the floor next to the door.

"Always smart to plan ahead," I say, lifting it.

Her hand, firmly in mine, we walk out to my car. More than ever, I'm relieved Clay was able to knock out the paint job when I was in California. There's no way I could have driven her around, especially tonight, in a car that looked like junk. Once we hit the road, I reach over to grab her hand, lifting it to brush my lips across her knuckles.

The drive to the hotel is quiet. I wondered if she is, like me, thinking about our kiss. My fear is of her fear, and scaring her off. Since I've been back, we've been moving rapidly through the physical aspect of our relations.h.i.+p. I'd be cool just kissing her. Do I need to express that to her so she won't try to rush herself?

It could backfire. I'd hate her to think my not wanting her to rush, meant I didn't want us to become more physical at all. As I pull in to the valet, I decide it's probably better to say nothing at all.

"This car is sick, man," says the valet who looks young enough for me to worry if he has a license.

"Thanks. Take good care of her."

"I will, man. Do you have a reservation? We sync the valet up to the room."

Before I can tell him not to worry, Lindsay leans forward. "Yes, we have a room."

His eyes glaze over as he looks at her. Yes, I know she's a walking wet dream, but come on, I'm sitting right here.

He stares dreamily at her. "What's the last name?"

"Palmer," I snap and he breaks his eye contact with her.

"Yes, sir."