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“Concealer.”

“Concealer.” The tube was slapped into her palm. Blotting and smudging ensued.

“Foundation.”

“Foundation. Check.” She ripped off a wedge of sponge and went over her T-zone, covering the remains of a dried-up pimple. Thank goodness.

“Eyeliner.”

“Got it.” She hoped her hand wouldn’t shake. She hated redrawing a crooked line.

“Eye shadow.”

“Smoky or cool?”

“Smoky.”

“Shadow. Check.”

Yukio handed Ororo each item and watched her contortions in the mirror.

“Man, I hope I’m not overdoing it.”

“You’ve been getting ready for two hours.”

“I’m trying not to look like it, for Pete’s sake.”

“Then what’s the point?” Yukio smeared some cherry flavored Chapstick on her lips every morning, spiked her fingers through her short hair and then just took off out the door. Had it been anyone except her best friend, Ororo would have despised her.

Ororo spritzed on a generous cloud of Pleasures, then sneezed sharply as it stung her nostrils.

“Ew. Germs.”

“My nose had a tickle. I’m fine,” Ororo nagged.

“Sure. Famous last words. Every time I catch a cold, I catch it from you.”

“Liar.”

“You better be glad I like you enough to put up with your cooties. Just as long as it isn’t stomach flu.”

“Hush your mouth.”

“I don’t need any kind of bug that sends me to the bathroom to make weird noises.”

“Ewwww…”

“There better not be weird noises in my future.”

Ororo finally stepped back. “How do I look?” Yukio sighed, knowing what was coming next.

True to form, Ororo peppered her with “Does this make my butt look big? Don’t I look bloated? I hate that. I should’ve took my vitamin B complex last night. Do you think I went too bland with the hair?”

“First, no. Second, no, you tall, skinny heifer, you don’t. Third, well…yeah. Leave it out. Make it poofier.”

“I don’t know if he likes poof-“

“I said poofier! Out with this,” Yukio ordered, snatching off Ororo’s hair clip, “and make with the poof.”

Twenty poof-wrangling minutes later, Ororo’s hair was a soft mass of waves.

“I’ve gotta get me some of that,” Yukio whistled, bumping her with her hip. Ororo bumped back and grinned.

“All right. It’s now or never.”

“Have fun. Doing something you like,” Yukio emphasized.

“I am. We’re going to check out some art.”

“Yawn…”

“It’s a nice first date,” she argued. “A first real date.” No bleacher seats and a cold butt this time. Yukio caught the under current in her voice.

“Has he called?”

“Hmm?”

“Logan. Has he called.”

“Nope. I wasn’t expecting him to call.” It was a patent lie. She’d prayed he would call. The empty pillow on the other side of her bed mocked her.

How would it feel to wake up to Jonathan’s face instead?

Would he snore? Would he have bad morning breath? Worse, would he think SHE had bad morning breath? Was he a cuddler? Would he steal the covers?

Ororo recovered her senses. Did any of it matter? It was a first date. It might not lead to anything more than one less Friday night at home.

And Ororo was at the top of her game. Kick-ass shoes, little black dress, big, sexy hair…she was ready.

“You know the drill. I want details. Don’t take any wooden nickels.”

“Where are you headed tonight?” It occurred to Ororo that she forgot to ask.

“I…am going out. Kenuichio called.” Ororo’s breath caught.

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“You had other things on your mind.”

“I would have made room in my mind for this. What made you decide to give him a chance?”

“He always had a chance; that’s not the point. I was just in the mood to see him, that’s all.”

“You burned him in effigy when you took back his key.”

“People change.”

“He skipped that dinner with your parents for a Sharks game.”

“I got over it. It’s not like I was gonna marry him or anything.” Ororo opened her mouth. Yukio quelled it, holding up her finger for her friend to hush. “Ah.”

“Yukio…”

“Ah-ah-ah. Nope. Don’t. Zip it.” Her commands punctuated each attempt Ororo made to protest.

Ororo sighed, looking concerned.

“Don’t pout. Might ruin your lipstick. Which would be bad.” Yukio headed toward the door. Ororo reached for her leather jacket, stroking it a moment before letting Yukio have it back.

“Be careful.”

“I’m always careful. But put out a missing person report if you don’t hear from me by tomorrow morning. Just let me sleep in.” Her wink was sly. She gave Ororo a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Ororo brooded and paced over the next ten minutes, rehearsing her hello and pondering small talk that wouldn’t make her sound deficient. Every idea fled her head as soon as she heard the tentative knock on her door. She nearly galloped across the room and peered through the peephole.

Forge. In a gorgeous casual suit. Looking around her hallway as though wondering if he had the right apartment number.

Ororo took a deep breath and undid the deadbolt.

She tried not to sound breathless as she swept open the door. “Hi!”

“Good evening,” he rumbled, and then he gave her a thorough once-over, from head to toe and back again. “You. Look. Lovely.”

“Oh…you. Silly.” She beamed. “Come in. Let me get my purse.” She scurried back to her room and felt his eyes on her back.

Once she was back in her room, peering once more in the mirror, she began hyperventilating.

It’s just a date. It’s just a date. It’s just a date.

Her eyes fell on The Cap.

She’d kept it. Despite Yukio’s injunction to burn it, she kept that godawful baseball hat as some sort of…well, a talisman. Perhaps a charm to ward off more bad relationships. Or a reminder of what happened when she just “went along” instead of stepping up.

She straightened up, smoothed her dress with dry palms, and marched back outside, purse tucked under arm.

“Shall we?”


*

He wined her. He dined her. She catalogued him, mentally taking notes.

He cut his steak using the left hand to hold the fork, the right hand to cut, then switched hands to eat with his right hand. None of his foods touched on his plate. He was meticulous, even when buttering a flaky roll.

He had a cautious sense of humor. He waited for her to give him the punchline, and even then his laugh was more of a smile that made his eyes crinkle. They were nice eyes.

He was still courteous, holding doors and pulling out chairs. That much wasn’t a smokescreen, the man was incredibly polite.

Yet by the end of the night, Ororo realized something odd.

She’d spent the entire night talking about herself.

And he’d hung on every word.

So she fished. “Er, what do you usually do on the weekends?”

“Hm.” There was a long silence as he steered his way into traffic. He was a careful driver, something she couldn’t blame him for. The man drove a Porsche, for goodness sake.

Ororo cocked her brow, waiting.

“Weekends,” he pondered aloud. “I can’t remember the last time I had one that wasn’t like every other day of the week.”

“No sleeping in? Brunch? Tennis?”

“My internal clock always gets me up at six. I like to beat traffic by getting on the road early.”

“You could take the BART.” He gave her an “Are you shitting me?” look and laughed, this time with more gusto.

“Back to the other questions. I’m not that into breakfast, only because I usually don’t have time for it. Not to say that I don’t like it.”

“I’m an omelet junkie.”

He tsked. “Dangerous habit.”

“Every woman’s gotta have a vice.”

“You don’t look like someone who has any. Life agrees with you.” She glowed under his praise.

“Likewise. You look nice tonight.”

“I’ll mention that to my image consultant.”

Holy shit.

“You have an image consultant.”

“I do.”

“Someone who picks out your clothes and advises you what looks best?”

“She does much more than that, but yes.” Then he added, “I don’t mind getting a second opinion.”

“Oh…I need help dressing myself, sometimes. My image consultant works for peanuts, though.”

“Oh?”

“My best friend, Yukio.”

“Ah.”

“She’s my shopping buddy and partner in crime.”

“I may have to steal you from her. I have need of your services.”

Whoa. What was he getting at, here? It’s just dinner, buddy. Nothing else. Deal with it.

“What kind of services, Forge?”

“I’ll tell you when we get out of the car.” Piqued, she let him parallel park on a crowded street. “Wait.” He rounded the car and helped her out. His hands were large and warm, closing around hers. His cologne was still that heady, expensive-smelling Burberry; a whiff of it rose from his suit, tickling her nose. It felt almost awkward, being this close to him. Her pulse skipped at the sound of his voice.

“Help me decide.” They strolled toward the corner of a street in the shopping district, puzzling her, until they stopped at a large flower stand.

“Which one of these would I buy for a beautiful lady?”

Ororo marked it up to the food and wine. But her stomach exploded in butterflies.

*

The ride back to her place was filled with more small talk.

“I had a wonderful time. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he countered as they pulled into her driveway. Her mind ran through different scenarios and she still came up blank.

What now?

He escorted her up the stairs and to her front door. Not too eager, she noticed. Just calm and easygoing. He waited patiently for her to unlock her front door, but she didn’t open it yet. They lingered at the threshold.

She made up her mind then. She couldn’t kiss him. Not if she wanted the first date to be the last date.

Did she want it to be the last date?

“Give your image consultant my compliments,” she quipped.

“I’ll pass them along.” Her pulse still raced as he searched her face a moment.

His fingers smoothed a tendril of her hair back from her face, barely touching her, but her cheeks flamed. A current rippled between them when he took her hand, raising her knuckles to his lips.

“I’ll call you.” It wasn’t a request.

“You will.” There wasn’t any doubt.

“Good night, Ororo.”

“Good night.” At least he reminded her what her own name was…

She watched him from the hallway window as he drove away.

Ororo wandered into her kitchen, still in a daze. The cellophane wrap around the flowers crinkled as she set them down and searched for a vase. She settled on an empty pickle jar and trimmed the stems, feeling guilty that she’d defeated the purpose of “long-stemmed” pink roses, but they were gorgeous.

She put away her purse and kicked off her shoes. Ororo was in the middle of taking off her favorite necklace when she saw her voice mail light blinking in the dark. At least one of those calls had to be Yukio, she mused. Or, maybe not, if she was still out with Kenuichio. Ororo grunted in disgust. Why, Yukio? Why?

She hit play.

“Hey, ‘Ro. It’s just Logan. How’ve ya been?”

Someone dashed icy cold water in her face. That was the only way she could explain her heart pounding in her ears.





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