She nodded, but her eyes were already closed again. He let himself out and went back to his apartment alone.

At three a.m., Henrik woke up to find Austin standing over him, drunkenly patting him on top of the head. “Good friend,” he said, giving him another not-so-gentle pat, “you’re a good friend.”

Henrik dragged himself out of bed and led a stumbling Austin down the hall, knowing he didn’t deserve his friend’s praise.

He was a shitty friend, but he was working on it.

Chapter 20

 

 

HENRIK’S RESCUE

“Is everything all right in there?”

The bathroom was deathly quiet. They had little less than an hour to make it to the event on time. Not that Henrik usually worried about that sort of thing, but he didn’t want to miss a minute of his first date with Leila. Anxiety bit at him. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours planning out their perfect evening, but he couldn’t wine and dine himself into her heart if he couldn’t get her out of the damn bathroom.

“No,” she snapped from the other side, her voice breaking up an octave. “Everything is definitely not all right.”

“What’s wrong?”

“This stupid dress doesn’t fit!”

He imagined her trying to squeeze into a dress, her adorable face wrinkled in frustration. He had the urge to jerk the door open to see for himself, but knew better. Drew had confiscated the bathroom at her apartment, so he’d volunteered his in relief. He had no idea that taking a shower and putting on a dress could be such a dramatic experience.

He was exhausted already.

“Didn’t you try it on in the store?”

The door flung open, revealing just enough of her face to see the deadly warning in her eyes. Then she slammed it back shut. He sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. It wasn’t the way he envisioned the night starting out. “Okay, I realize that was obviously the wrong thing to say. Allow me to try again.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound as optimistic as possible. “Let me have a look. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

The door eased open again, revealing the same small portion of her face. She wasn’t angry. In fact, she looked positively defeated. “It’s bad,” she mumbled, obviously upset by the fact.

“Let me see,” he encouraged, easing the door further open. She stepped back just enough to reveal the slinky, steel gray dress that melted over her figure as if it had been painted on by hand.

“Oh, hell no.”

Her face immediately scrunched up, her lips forming an almost perfect pout. “It’s that bad?”

He blinked his eyes a couple times, oblivious to what she’d asked him. Things would go wrong with her in that dress. He wanted to prove he was in it for more than just a hookup, but right now, with his eyes everywhere but on her face, it was becoming difficult to remember why. “We are taking that thing back to wherever you bought it.”

Then he would kill Drew for letting her walk out of the store with it.

“Henrik, be serious.” She wiggled in a poor attempt to keep the top of the dress from falling down. She only made it worse—on him.

“Trust me,” he swallowed, before taking in a deep breath, “I am serious. You can’t wear that tonight.”

“I know,” she growled, “because it doesn’t fit.”

“No,” he argued, “you can’t wear it because I’m going to be half drunk. You already know how I act around you when I’m sober. Can you imagine me intoxicated and you in that dress?”

He wanted to show her that he could be a gentleman, that he had self-control. He wasn’t Derek.

She quirked half a smile.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he told her. “We’re taking it back. C’mon, I know a place downtown. We’ll stop on the way, get a new dress that’ll make Mary Poppins envious, and we’ll both be good to go.”

He grabbed her hand, practically dragging her out of the door.

“No, wait,” she urged, resisting his hold on her. “I have to change first.”

“No, you don’t. Just wear that one until we get there.” He tightened the grip on her hand. “I’m sorta positive I can behave myself until then.”

“Henrik,” she said coarsely, and then turned around. The dress was completely unzipped down her back, showing a strapless, black lace bra and bare skin all the way down to the matching trim of her panties.

“Well, shit.”

He kicked the door shut. Then locked it.

She gave him a pointed look. “Sorry,” he said absently, his eyes still trained to her backside. “Reflex.”

“Just get out so I can change. We’re going to be late as it is.”

He nodded, but made no attempt to change his position. “Go,” she laughed, pushing him out the door.

“Okay, okay,” he grumbled, making his way out of the room. If he had any hope of convincing Leila he could handle a sex-less relationship, he needed her out of that dress as soon as possible.

***

Forty-five minutes later he was in Amelia Toro, sitting outside a dressing room, waiting as the young attendant helped Leila try on a couple dresses she’d picked out. She’d shoved him into a seat and dared him to move.

He glanced at the clock on the wall for the third time, and sighed. They were definitely going to be late. They should have been there by now. She should be enjoying her second glass of wine, laughing at his jokes. Austin would send out a search committee if they didn’t get there soon.

“Hurry it up in there,” he yelled around the corner.

“Almost finished,” he heard Leila respond, though her voice was strained.

He got up and paced back and forth along the aisles. He pulled nervously at his stupid bow tie, but it didn’t help. Leila’s phone started to ring. She’d changed the tone to a melodramatic Boys2Men number, and it blasted from inside her purse.

“Can you get that?” she called. “It’s probably Austin.”

“Got it,” he yelled back, grabbing the shiny, silver clutch from the floor.

Except it wasn’t Austin. There was no goofy picture of her brother shoving five hot dogs in his mouth flashing on the screen. There was no picture at all. It was just a number from Newark, New Jersey.

Derek.

He jabbed his thumb on the green button, ready to let him have it. He couldn’t believe the asshole still had the nerve to call her. It was too late, though. It went to voicemail. He stood there staring at it, willing the idiot to make the mistake of calling a second time, but the phone remained silent. He didn’t leave a message.

He shoved the phone back in her purse to keep himself from calling the number back. The asshole was lucky he was on a fucking date.

A door creaked open, and he spun around as voices circled the corner. The attendant was first with her black on black assemble and Granny Smith bun. She smiled triumphantly at him. “She’s ready,” she announced, moving out of the way to reveal Leila behind her.

His mouth left its hinges.

He forgot about Derek. Austin. The event. Life.

The dress was midnight black. It wasn’t molded onto her like the other one. Its smooth lines framed her curves instead of clinging to them, but that wasn’t the part that caught his attention. No, this dress had one main attraction, and it centered on the plunging neckline, that in Leila’s case revealed more than his poor libido could handle.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to realize nothing would come out. So he shut it, and tried again. “I thought we agreed on a more conservative look,” he barely managed the second time.

She rolled her eyes as she walked toward him. “We don’t have time to argue about it. I’m going to pay out. I’ll meet you at the door.”

He grabbed her wrist, stopping her as she walked by. He took one more long, mouthwatering look down her body. “No, trust me,” he said through gritted teeth. “We’re going to argue about it.”