But I took too long to get ready, and traffic was bad getting downtown because of an accident. Parking was madness, and I paid twenty bucks to park in a lot a little closer, because it was going on quarter to eight. Before getting out of the car, I texted Charlie. What I meant to say was, Just parked. I’ll be there shortly. But because my fingers were jittery and I was in a rush, what I sent him was, Just parked. I’ll be there shirtless.
I hit Send just as I realized what Auto Correct had done to me. “Shit!” I flailed, dropping my phone into my lap. But I didn’t have time to text him again, so I scooped up my phone and took off. The sidewalks were wet and slippery, making walking in heels difficult. But I went as fast as I could, holding my wool dress coat closed as my heels clicked quickly on the cement. I hadn’t even taken the time to button it. My phone buzzed and I glanced at it.
Awesome. I’m not wearing pants.
I smiled and moved a little faster, surprised at how excited I was to see him. I shivered, although the temperature had warmed up slightly. My legs were cold, though, because I hadn’t worn stockings, and when I looked down I was dismayed to see how ghostly white they were beneath my dark coat. Frowning at my feet, I noticed how much darker my “nude” shoes were than my skin color. Why do they call it nude, anyway? It’s not my nude.
“Erin.”
Surprised when I heard Charlie say my name, I looked up but didn’t see him. Turning around, I scanned the crowd pushing toward the glass doors into the theater but still couldn’t find him.
“Hey. I’m right here.” A hand grasped my elbow.
I turned, and my jaw dropped. Charlie in a police officer’s uniform was hot, but Charlie in a suit and tie was downright scorching. He was always handsome, even in casual clothing, but I felt feverish seeing him dressed up. It wasn’t flashy either, just a simple gray two-button suit, worn with a white shirt and solid navy tie. He wore no overcoat, which let me appreciate the little details more—the way the jacket hugged his broad shoulders and slim torso, the way the cuffs of his white shirt peeked out from the sleeves, the white sliver of his pocket square. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“You look beautiful.” He kissed my cheek. “Even if you are wearing a top.”
“Thank you. You look…different.” I was having a hard time recovering my senses.
He smiled, those blue eyes lighting up. “You didn’t think I knew how to dress up?”
I grinned sheepishly. “Maybe. I don’t know. Anyway, you look great. I’m glad you’re wearing pants. I meant shortly, by the way. Not shirtless.”
“I knew what you meant.” He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Any chance I can talk you into a hotel room instead of a ballet? There’s a nice one right around the corner. We can both go shirtless.”
My belly flipped, and for a second, I almost said fuck yes, let’s go and took off running. But I wanted to enjoy him in that suit a while before I got him out of it. “No. You promised.”
He sighed, straightening up. “OK, then. Let’s do it.” Taking my arm, he led me to the doors and held one open for me. I picked up the tickets at Will Call, and we headed into the lobby. It was there I noticed how many people seemed to be staring at us. It was so blatant that I began to feel self-conscious, patting my hair, adjusting my dress, running my tongue over my teeth to make sure I didn’t have lipstick on them.
“Quit fidgeting. You’re like a kid.”
“I can’t help it. People are staring at me.”
“They’re staring at me, not you.”
I slapped him on the arm.
“What do you expect?” He laughed, elbowing me gently as we made our way down the aisle to our seats. “You’re that kind of beautiful, Erin. You turn heads. Stop conversations.”
My heart trilled happily, but I rolled my eyes. “Stop it.”
“No, really. You should be glad. One day soon it’ll all be over. You’ll be a dowdy hausfrau with a dozen rugrats hanging off your ruined figure. So enjoy it while you can, huh?” He looked at me with eyebrows raised.
“Oh my God. You’re such an asshole.”
“You love me.” We’d reached our row, and he stepped aside to let me in first.
“I don’t. I really don’t,” I told him, sidestepping past a few people already seated. “I can’t even believe I’m taking you to the ballet, something beautiful and meaningful to me.” I sat down and he sank into the seat next to me. “You’ll probably just make fun of it the whole time.”
“I won’t, I swear. There’s probably a no-talking rule during the show anyway.” He looked around. “Although there’s a lot of kids here. Are they really going to be quiet the whole time?”
“Yes, and you are too.”
He leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Can I at least make buttcracker jokes?”
“No. My brother exhausted all those going to my performances when we were younger.”
The lights dimmed then, and a voice came over the speaker reminding us not to talk, take photos, or use cell phones during the performance.
Charlie did well with the rules at first, but after a while he started to lean over and whisper at particular moments. When the Prince appeared, he said, “Where can I get a pair of tight pants like that? I think they’d look good on me.”
When the female dancer performing the Arabian Coffee dance exhibited her supple back and gorgeous extension, he said, “So are you that flexible? Because that move could be useful.”