SOBER IN THE CITY

Sex, Lies and Chocolate Cake

June 7th at 7:33PM by Sara [265 comments]

My phone rang just as I was putting the finishing touches on my outfit. I slipped a chunky bracelet on my wrist as I crossed the room and picked up my phone. I smiled as I saw the flashing message on the phone's screen.

Mr. Hollywood Calling...

I placed the phone between my ear and shoulder, so I could still have my hands free as I hustled around my apartment.

"Hey," I answered, slightly out of breath. I hoped it sounded more sexy breathless than I'm-out-of-shape-because-I-never-work-out breathless. I stopped in my tracks and in my most breezy voice, added, "Are you here?"

"Yep. Just downstairs in a cab," his silky smooth voice answered back. "You ready to go?"

Now why can't I sound cool like that?

"Absolutely. I'll be down in a second."

Ending the call, I shoved the cell into my clutch and then turned to face my full-length mirror. I eyed myself critically.

I'd had the toughest time trying to find an outfit that was suitable for the night. I mean, what's a girl supposed to wear to dinner with a movie star? I'd tried on about twenty different outfits, ranging from dresses to skirts to sweaters...I even put on an old pair of silver spandex with an equally flashy halter top (which, let's be honest, wasn't really a good look back when they were popular and would certainly top the "fashion don't" list now).

In the end, I'd settled on a pair of faded blue jeans and a white tee, after remembering that a recent issue of Glamour had mentioned that guys preferred jeans and t-shirt girls to overly fancy ones. In that same issue, I'd also been reminded that Mr. Hollywood's ex was notorious for wearing the latest dresses by the hottest designers. She was frequently featured on the Best Dressed lists of every magazine. Rumor was that any paparazzi that could capture a shot of her sans makeup was looking at a five million dollar paycheck. Photos like that were as rare as unicorns and fairies apparently. So, my thought was that Mr. Hollywood was probably looking for a girl who was a little less high-maintenance. A little more real. A little like me.

I smoothed out my shirt, swiped some gloss on my lips and grabbed my jacket off the back of the closet door. I surveyed my apartment quickly, making sure it was suitable for guests if I chose to have one over later. After that almost-night with Hunter, I'd actually taken the time to make my place as boy-friendly as I could. And I might've even done a little girl-scaping—but a lady doesn't wax and tell.

Satisfied that the room was company-ready and my appearance was as good as it was going to get without professional help, I scurried downstairs to meet my date.

The night was cool, and I slipped my arms into my jacket as I closed the door behind me. I looked up and down the street, searching for my ride. My gaze finally fell on Mr. Hollywood who was less than fifteen feet away from where I stood, and I had to bite my lip to fight back the silly grin that was threatening to form. I took in the scene in front of me and my legs went weak.

Mr. Hollywood was leaning against a cab, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket, the other holding a lit cigarette that he was sucking on peacefully. His hair was perfectly coifed and had that just tousled look, a lone strand covering his eye. His outfit was simple, like the one I'd seen him wearing the week before. Just jeans and a light sweater, topped off with what looked like expensive Italian leather shoes. He looked up then and caught me staring, but all he did was flash me the smile that had made him famous. I'd seen it on the cover of more magazines than I could count, but witnessing it in person was a whole other experience.