I spent longer than usual getting ready that evening. At first I told myself it was because this would be my first night out after my break up with Brad, but then admitted that it had to do with the fact that Jack so rarely saw me looking nice. It would be good for him to see me in something other than my pjs or uni clothes, I decided, it could only help my cause.
Ah the things we'll tell ourselves to escape the cold hard truth, which was, of course, that after the dreams of the night before I'd begun to realise what should have become blatantly obvious after my reaction to a simple handshake. I’d realised Jack was hot and I wanted him to see me that way too.
I wore dark denim jeans with a subtly sparkly, deeply v-necked top in a gorgeous royal purple colour. Well purple is the colour of kings…or sexual frustration depending on which school of thought you hail from. I tugged on my high heeled black boots and went for the smoky eyed/neutral lips make-up effect. After mussing up my hair I was ready and, if I do say so myself, not looking half bad.
The whole thing took about three quarters of an hour to perfect, which is why I nearly cried when, after spending five minutes in the bathroom, Jack emerged looking hotter than anything I could ever create. Boys suck! He wore a dark blue shirt and black jeans and I just know it had taken him all of two seconds to decide that was what he was going to wear.
"What?" He asked, seeing my eyes narrow in annoyance.
"Nothing," I sighed, grabbing my bag. "But, if anyone asks, you took longer than me in the bathroom, alright?"