Wasted Words by Staci Hart

It wasn’t so bad. My mood improved.

I had put in contacts, which I never did because I was lazy and didn’t really care. But for a fancy cocktail party and high heels? It was a contact sort of a night. I applied mascara, which was easy. Sorta. I maybe had to clean up my eyelids with a Q-tip, and I probably looked like a clown during the process, but whatever. I did it, and it looked great.

Then came a little blush, and the lip crayon thingy I’d gotten. That was honestly the hardest part — moving the crayon with as few strokes as possible, making both sides of my lip even, not smudging it. I’d primed it like Lily told me to, though, and my fingers were crossed that it would stay put.

I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror, feeling confident I’d done that right, though I eyed my hair suspiciously. My normal routine for makeup consisted solely of lip balm, and my hair just did its own thing. Sometimes I’d braid it or throw it in a messy bun, and the rest of the time I just let it do what it wanted. I’d let it air dry and it waved simply and looked passable without me having to jack with it.

I’d watched three tutorials on curling hair and felt mostly ready to try it myself.

My curling iron — an ancient relic of my mother’s — had been fired up, and I took a deep breath, going over the steps in the videos I’d watched. So piece by piece, I curled it, tongue sticking out and face screwed up. After half an hour, my hair looked pretty fucking good, by my estimation, and I’d only burned the back of my ear. I was calling that a win. The final touch was to hairspray it, which I did from root to tip, scrunching it after.

I stood back and looked myself over, shocked when I saw a legit lady staring back, which was weird.

Weird, and oddly awesome.

I tidied up in a hurry — Tyler would be home soon, and I wanted to be ready when he got there. We’d be leaving almost right away, plus I really, really wanted to see the look on his face when he saw me. I could gauge from that whether or not I’d done it right.

I made my way into my room and to the dress hanging on the back of my closet door. I pulled the satin tie of the little kimono my mom had gotten for me for Christmas and let it fall to the ground. I’d never worn it before, but realized its purpose when I needed to put on makeup before getting dressed. Who even knew what kind of mess I would have made of my dress if I’d worn it while dealing with foundation.

I reached for the dress reverently and stepped into it, slipped my arms in, holding my breath as I looked in the full-length mirror.

Then I remembered I couldn’t button the back without Tyler.

I blew out the breath between my lips, and they flapped together. I was filled with immediate regret, panicking that it messed up my lipstick. But when I leaned forward to check it in the mirror it was fine — thank God, because it’s very possible that might have cried if I’d had to wash any part of my face again.

I heard his key in the door, and my pulse raced. I slipped my feet into my shoes and took a breath, smoothing the skirt of the dress nervously in the mirror before turning and walking out to meet him, full of hope.

He was smiling when our eyes met, but he slowed to a stop, his smile slipping as he looked down my body, keys hanging in his hand.

Nerves rushed through me, washing away that hope I’d had — blood rushed to my cheeks and ears, making the curling iron burn throb. It was wrong, all wrong. I should never have agreed to the pageantry, or I should have begged Rose to help me get ready.

“Cam …” His voice was rough.

I looked down at my shoes and took a breath. “I … God, I knew I would mess this up. I’m sorry. I tried to do it, make myself beautiful, but—”

He was in front of me in a few steps, cupping my cheeks, angling my face so our eyes met. “Cam, you’re always beautiful. Always. When you’re sleeping. When you’re in a T-shirt and sneakers. Especially when you’re in a T-shirt and sneakers. But right now, I’ve never seen anything so perfect.”

Surprise washed over me. “You mean … I didn’t screw it up?”

He laughed and brushed his lips to mine, mindful of my lipstick. “You did the exact opposite of screwing up.”

I sighed, exhaling the anxiety and filling my lungs with sweet relief. “Would you do up my buttons in the back?” I asked, turning in his arms as excitement surged. I swept my hair off my neck.

“Of course.” I felt his hands on my back, the tug of the fabric. “I can’t believe you had a single doubt in your mind about yourself.”

I chuckled. “Well, agonizing over my hair and makeup for the last two hours probably had something to do with it.”

His hand lingered on my back as he bent to kiss the bare skin above my collar. “You could have skipped all of that and I’d still have stopped dead at the sight of you.”

I leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on top of my head for a long moment.

“I’d better go get changed so we can go. I’m ready to take you out and show the world you’re mine.” He pressed a kiss into my hair.

His words sent a shiver through me, and when he pulled away, part of me wanted to forget the party and follow him into his room instead, to stay there for the rest of the night.

But instead, I walked into the kitchen, appreciating the sound of my heels on the hardwood floor. There was some power in it, like a sexual battle cry. I stood a little straighter, feeling a lot sexier, and discovered that I was far more of a badass than I’d realized.

I poured a scotch while I waited on Tyler, feeling classy as fuck, sipping the amber liquid as I paced around the kitchen to make sure I wasn’t going to fall down. Rose and Lily were right — for whatever reason, the heels didn’t feel unstable or overly painful. I mean, who knew how I’d feel after five or six hours, but after trying on twelve pairs of heels, these were easily the most comfortable. If I’d bought the pair that made me walk like a penguin because they were so tall and unstable, I doubt I’d make it down the stairs.