by Tara Sivec
Ariel’s voice suddenly switches from anger to breathy, sex-phone operator.
Cindy smacks Ariel in the arm before I can.
“What are you doing?” Cindy scolds.
“Are you kidding me right now? Belle’s dad is a silver fox. Like, Sticks from the TV show Live PD silver fox.”
I look at my father, wondering what in the world Ariel is talking about. I mean, he’s my dad. Sure, he’s an okay-looking guy, I guess. He’s a little over six feet tall with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He’s lean, but with some pretty nice muscle definition in his arms, since he’s a stickler for working out because both of his parents died from heart disease—and since his eating habits suck, he focuses all his attention on that instead of adding a few leafy greens to his diet. And we share the same bright-green eye color, which actually enhances his looks ever since his hair changed from the same dark brown as mine. But still. He’s my dad.
“Just so you know, I volunteer as tribute to be your new stepmom,” Ariel whispers, giving my dad a wink.
“I take it you’re the harlots who have corrupted my little girl?” my dad finally says, taking a step closer to us in the hallway and crossing his arms in front of him.
I immediately forget all about how much I’ve missed him when I realize a week apart still hasn’t changed his views. His face is pinched in disgust, like he just sucked on a lemon, as he stares at me and my friends
“Hey! I’ll have you know I haven’t been a harlot since I slept with this one’s husband,” Ariel says angrily, pointing her thumb back at Cindy. “And really, it was an honest mistake, since he’s a lying piece of shit who now has eye herpes.”
My dad’s mouth drops open and his arms fall down to his sides.
“Not. Helping,” I mutter out of the corner of my mouth through clenched teeth.
“I take it you’ve seen the error of your ways and you’ve decided to come home? I knew you’d realize what a huge mistake you made and just how difficult and scary it is out in the real world. I just didn’t think it would take you over a week to come to this conclusion,” my dad says with a haughty lift of his chin.
I want to scream and shout at him, but I honestly don’t have the energy to fight with him anymore. It’s clear that he’s looking at me right now, but he doesn’t even see me. He doesn’t see that I’m not a child who needs his protection from the big bad world anymore, and that does nothing but make me sad instead of angry.
Ariel opens her mouth to most likely let loose a whole string of profanities that will just make the situation worse, and I quickly clamp my hand around her arm and step around her.
“No, Dad. I’m not coming home,” I tell him softly. “I’m just here to get the rest of my things. I told you last week, it’s time for me to do things on my own. I love you, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I can’t do this anymore. I need to live my life the way I want to live it. And you need to live your life without your adult daughter living here, cramping your style. Get out of the house more, make friends, maybe go on a date. I don’t want to lose you. I want you in my life. I want to be able to pick up the phone and call you and talk about books and go to dinner. Don’t you want that too?”
My eyes fill with tears as I look at him hopefully. This man has been my everything for my entire life. I can’t imagine never speaking to him again, never cooking dinner with him again, or never being able to call him when I need him. I just want him to realize I’m not a little girl anymore, but that doesn’t mean I won’t always need my dad.
His nostrils flare and he shakes his head at me.
“I don’t know you anymore, Isabelle. You’ve let these . . . people corrupt you, and I can’t even look at you right now.”
With that, he turns and walks away, disappearing down the hall and locking himself in his bedroom.
Cindy and Ariel both put their arms around me, giving me a tight squeeze as the tears that were pooling in my eyes escape, falling fast down my cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Cindy tells me, resting the side of her head against mine.
“Me too,” Ariel says. “I still want to climb that man like a tree, but not until he apologizes to you. Hoes before silver fox bros.”
Cindy huffs, and despite what just happened and my almost overwhelming need to curl up into a ball and cry myself silly, I can’t help but laugh. With my head held high, I move out of Cindy and Ariel’s hold and lead them down the basement stairs to my old bedroom to pack up my things.
Chapter 10: Screw You
“Give me the safety pin back,” I demand, holding my hand out in front of me.
Ariel smacks my hand away and takes a step back to look at me.
“You don’t need the safety pin. Damn, this might be my finest work yet.”
I look down at the black, long-sleeved, body-hugging wrap dress Ariel decided was the only thing in my wardrobe that was salvageable for a date, grimacing when I see nothing but cleavage staring up at me.
“I usually pair this dress with a colorful cardigan sweater and a pair of ballet flats in the same color as the sweater,” I complain, shifting from foot to foot in the heels she made me put on.
“If you ever put a cardigan on again I will punch you in the throat. Also, if you ever use a safety pin to close the neckline of one of your dresses again, I’ll stab you in the eye with it.”
I stop complaining after that because Ariel scares me a little bit.
“Jesus, you’ve got great legs. Why in the hell have you been hiding them under long, hideous dresses?” she asks, grabbing a makeup brush from the sink counter and swiping my cheeks with it.
I have to admit, I do like the way my legs look in this dress, although I feel naked because the skirt stops several inches above my knees and I’m not wearing my usual pair of leggings underneath it. My bare legs actually do look quite nice, especially with the pair of black four-inch heels Ariel let me borrow. I just hope I’ll be able to walk in them without falling on my face. That’s not exactly the kind of impression I want to make on a first date.
My first date ever, aside from my senior prom.
Nervous excitement makes me press my hand to my stomach as Ariel finishes my makeup. Ariel and Cindy both assured me that the guy I’m going out with tonight was the best one out of all the emails I’d received. They said he’s really handsome, and his number one hobby is reading. I’m more than a little excited to be able to talk to another adult about books, especially a man. And a good-looking one at that.
Ariel finally finishes what she’s doing with my face, grabs my shoulders and turns me to face the mirror.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper when I get the first look at what Ariel’s been doing to me for the last hour in Vincent’s bathroom.
The only time my long, dark brown hair is ever out of a messy bun is when I first wake up in the morning. My hair is so thick that it always gets in my eyes, and I find myself constantly shoving it out of the way, especially when I’m busy shelving books at the library. Ariel refused to leave it up, and used something called a wand to add soft waves that curl away from my face and down around my shoulders. She didn’t go crazy with makeup, but it’s definitely more than my usual light dusting of blush and some lip gloss. She made my eyelashes look ten times longer and thicker with mascara, added some sparkly silver eyeshadow, and finished everything off with bold, red lipstick.
“You’re sure we can’t lose the glasses?” she asks.
“Not unless you want me running into walls and thinking my date is a plant in the corner of the room,” I tell her, pushing my glasses further up the bridge of my nose.
“I guess they’ll do for now, until we can get you some contact lenses. You’re definitely nailing the whole hot nerd thing right now.”
I smile at her, feeling much more confident about what’s going to happen tonight now that I look and feel sexy.
“We better get going. Cindy figured it was best to meet this guy at a public place, so he’
s picking you up at the library in a half hour. We also made him send us an email with a scan of his driver’s license, and we called Mrs. Potter and told her if the guy looks sketchy, she’s not to let you get in the car with him,” Ariel informs me as she shoves all of the makeup she brought with her into a huge makeup bag.
As soon as we get out into the living room, I come to a sudden stop by the fireplace when I see Vincent standing by the kitchen island, pulling on a black leather jacket.
After my dad’s house, we stopped by Ariel’s so she could grab all the things she needed to give me a makeover. When we got back here, Vincent wasn’t home, and I assumed he had left for the rest of the night to go to work. Now my nerves are back in full force, wondering what he’ll think about how I look.
“Come on, asshole. Your chariot awaits,” Ariel complains, pausing to look back at me.
Vincent’s head snaps up when he hears her voice, and I hold my breath when his eyes meet mine. Then, ever so slowly, I watch as they trail down my body and back up, the heat from his gaze warming everything inside of me. I wait for him to say something about how different I look, and nothing but awkward silence fills the room.
Deciding now is a good time to put this new sexiness to good use and see if there could be something more between us once I get some experience, I lift my chin and start walking towards him with confidence.
That was probably my first mistake.
I maybe should have asked Ariel to teach me how to walk in these torture devices without just shuffling my feet across the floor.
I manage to take three steps before my ankles wobble and one of the stupid heels slips on the hardwood floor. My arms start windmilling to try and steady myself, but it’s no use. I pitch forward and squeeze my eyes closed, hoping it doesn’t hurt too bad when I smack my face into the floor.
Just when I think I’m going to have to cancel my date because of a broken nose with blood spraying everywhere, I feel a pair of strong arms wrap around my body and stop my downward decent. Vincent hauls me back up onto my feet and yanks me against him, my palms smacking against his chest to steady myself.
I can feel his body everywhere from the rough scrape of his jeans against my thighs through the dress, to his stomach pressing against mine, and his muscular chest rubbing against my breasts with each breath he takes. His huge arms are still wrapped tightly around my waist and I’ve never felt more safe and secure in my life. I finally tip my head back to look up at him, thankful that these stupid shoes are good for one thing. Instead of craning my neck and getting a kink in it because of our height difference, these shoes put my head right below his chin. As my eyes move up towards his, all I can think about is that the crook of his neck between his throat and his collarbone would make a great place for me to burrow my face, especially now that I’m at the perfect height to reach it. My heart beats double-time in my chest, waiting for him to say something complimentary, and I hope to God he can’t feel it with our chests still pressed together so tightly. It takes everything in me not to press my nose against him and take a deep breath of his manly soap smell.
“What the hell are you wearing? And what’s all that shit on your face?”
So much for compliments.
My heart falls right down into my stomach as I shove against his chest as hard as I can until he finally drops his arms from around me and lets me take a step back from him. When my ankles start to wobble again, he quickly reaches his arms out for me, but I smack his hands away.
“I’m fine!” I growl through clenched teeth, sliding the shoes against the hardwood as I move backwards instead of lifting them up and attempting to walk like a normal person.
I keep shuffling and sliding backwards until I’m far enough away so I can’t smell him or feel the heat from his body, and I can clear my head.
“What the fuck did you do to her?” Vincent asks, glaring at Ariel when I finally manage to slide my way over to her without falling.
“I sexed her up a bit, thank you very much. Her date will be eating out of her hand by the end of the night. Or, you know, getting down on his knees and eating out her—”
“Didn’t you say we needed to leave?” I quickly interrupt Ariel, reaching over and grabbing my purse from the arm of the couch.
“You have a date?” Vincent asks, incredulity screaming loud and clear in his voice even though he asked the question barely above an angry whisper.
My hope that he would actually find me attractive when he saw me like this withers and dies inside of me, like someone pouring water on cotton candy. Not wanting to cry and ruin the beautiful makeup Ariel applied, I go with anger instead.
“Yes, I have a date. I know it’s hard for you to imagine that a man might actually want to date someone as boring and nerdy and plain as me, but miracles do happen,” I inform him, grabbing onto Ariel’s arm so she can help me walk towards the door.
“Belle, that’s not what—”
“Screw you!” I shout over my shoulder as I fling open the front door. “And don’t wait up.”
Ariel and I step outside, and I yank the door closed behind me with a loud slam.
As she helps me down the stairs and over the cobblestone walkway to her car parked in the driveway, I pause by the passenger door and turn my anger on her.
“And YOU! What the hell? You couldn’t have stuck up for me back there? I expected a minimum of thirteen curse words when he asked what the fuck you did to me!” I yell.
Ariel reaches around me and opens the passenger door, giving me a pat on the shoulder and leaning into the open doorway when I get myself seated.
“You did such a fine job of standing up to your dad today, I figured I’d let you handle the beast on your own as well. It was a beautiful thing to watch, my little grasshopper. What you failed to notice during that entire exchange was how he couldn’t take his eyes off you, especially your tits popping out of that dress. You’re welcome, by the way,” she adds with a wink. “I’m sure you also missed the impressive tent in his jeans when you pushed away from him. Lucky for you I spend a lot of time staring at men’s crotches. Next time, drop a few f-bombs and give him the finger, and he probably really will club you over the head like a caveman and drag you back to his bedroom by your hair.”
With that, she shuts the car door, and for the first time since I walked out of the bathroom, a huge smile brightens my face.
Chapter 11: Gus Tone
“And then for my thirtieth birthday I received a hefty inheritance from my grandparents. I took a trip to Barbados and splurged on the BMW you liked so much.”
I never actually said I liked his car. As soon as we stepped up to where it was parked outside the library, he told me how much it cost. I smiled uncomfortably and got into it without saying a word.
Just like I’ve done all evening since we got into his car, and all through dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant in town where he’s done nothing but talk about himself, I nod politely at my date, Gus. Or as he introduced himself when he picked me up from the library, “Tone. Gus Tone.” Like he’s James Bond or something.
At least he’s relatively attractive to look at from across the table in the dimly lit restaurant, with the flicker of a candle between us. If you like the whole slicked-back-hair, clean-shaven, suit-wearing type. He’s got jet black hair and very nice blue eyes, and he fills out his suit quite nicely. He’s not busting out of it like Vincent would be, but I can tell he keeps himself in good shape, so at least he was honest about that in his Match Made in Heaven profile.
“Anyway, I’ve done pretty well for myself, being really smart about investments over the years. My father thinks it’s time for me to settle down, so I thought I’d try my hand at this online dating thing. Anything’s better than the gold diggers I’ve hooked up with the last couple of years. They take one look at me and see dollar signs and a cushy future.”
He reaches into the inside pocket of his suit coat and pulls out a small compact, opening it up and checking his reflection
in the mirror, smoothing back his hair and running his tongue over his teeth. I immediately lose my appetite when he makes a disgusting sucking sound, trying to get whatever bits of food might be stuck in between those things. Setting my fork down on the white-linen-covered table, I push my half-eaten plate of pasta carbonara away.
“What’s your portfolio look like? How much do you have in mutual funds right now? I’m assuming you have a nice money market account,” he says with a chuckle, snapping the compact closed and putting it back in his pocket. “Only an idiot wouldn’t have a money market account at your age.”
“I . . . I’m . . . uh . . .”
As I stumble over my words trying to come up with some way to tell him I have a checking account that is nearly overdrawn and a savings account with thirty-five cents in it—while also making sure he knows I am nowhere near being a gold digger—he looks away from me and snaps his fingers at our passing waitress.
“Hey, sweetheart. A check would be nice. Make it snappy and I’ll bump your tip up from ten percent to fifteen, how’s that sound?”
The poor woman glances over at me, and I give her an apologetic look before she rolls her eyes and hurries away from our table.
“So, what do you do for a living? I assume you have a job?” Gus asks, picking up his cell phone from the table and typing furiously on it instead of looking at me.
“You picked me up at the library. Where I work, remember?”
“Fascinating. Tell me more,” he says distractedly, still typing away on his phone.
“Did you know nomophobia is the fear of being without a smartphone and fifty-eight percent of men in this country suffer from it?” I ask.
He hums in response without looking up from his phone, clearly not hearing a word I said. With a sigh, I take the first opportunity since I met this man to actually talk about myself.
