He had no idea whether or not she wore make-up.
Even though he had spent countless hours staring at that face, he just… didn’t know.
If pushed, he’d guess that she did something with her eyes. Because, really, it wouldn’t be fair for them to be naturally that stunning.
He knew other things though!
He knew what her forehead looked like when she was mad at him, as compared to what it looked like when she was just concentrating.
He rolled up the end of his tie. Then he unrolled it. Why did he pick this ugly tie?
Oh! He also knew that sigh she let out when she was ready for the night to be over. When she was ready to stop being “on.” When she just wanted to shut down and have him nakedspoon her while they watched some movie that he was so excited about and which he was shocked that she had somehow never seen.
He stood up and straightened his suit.
He knew the feeling he got every time any part of her touched any part of him. From the first time they shook hands, to last night when her lips kissed his chest.
Every single time.
He heard a woman’s skin referred to as being “like electric silk” in a movie once. That was close.
He walked over to the mirror. He looked up. And down. He wasn’t completely dissatisfied.
He knew to just listen when she was so happy about something that she was just going to talk. Quickly. For a while. He loved that. Even though it made him feel like a bit of an audience member, it made him smile. Big.
He sat back down. He crossed one leg over the other. Which was something he only ever did while wearing a suit. He noticed the slightest bit of a thread hanging out from the bottom of his left pant leg. He pulled on it. The loose thread got a little longer.
He had a vision of her coming out and finding him with his pant leg unraveled all the way up to his knee — despite the fact that this was an expensive suit and not a crocheted scarf, crafted by a 12 year old. Then she’d stare. And he’d “Uhm…” And she’d say, “So maybe I took a little while to get ready?”
And then she did walk out.
He went to speak, but all that came out was “Whoa…”
“I’m very pretty, aren’t I?” she beamed. And then she did that thing she does, where she looks towards the ceiling with just her eyes and makes the cutest faux-bashful face ever.
She did a pirouette. The bottom of the purple cocktail dress floated a little.
He stood up.
He shook his head in awe.
She did a little dance move that made the dark ponytail sway.
He didn’t know if she was wearing make-up.
He did know that he was completely fucked.
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