Then, because just this simple act of paying attention to myself has lifted my spirits, I go digging in my purse for some makeup. I don’t have a lot and none of it is what I would call good. It’s drugstore stuff. And not high-end drugstore stuff, either.
I was blessed with a nice complexion. It’s not overly fair like some blonde people who always look pale. And my eyes are a beautiful green color that stand out in the sun.
Why don’t I play up my assets? I have giant tits too. My milk jugs. This makes me giggle. That’s what I used to call them during my first round of college.
And, oh, my God. I just remembered what I was wearing when I first met the sperm donor known as Vicious Vaughn.
My milkmaid costume.
I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle. I was so stupid.
Someone knocks on the door and I hurriedly paint on some lipstick, just for fun, then drop my purse in the breakroom and get out on the floor.
Everyone remarks on my hair and my lipstick. In fact, people are so in love with this version of me, my tips actually start increasing.
This is what he saw in me, I guess.
The cute girl with the blonde braids who came into her TA’s office just to drop off a sketchbook for grading and instead found the most infamous citizen of Fort Collins, Colorado and didn’t even know what she’d stumbled into.
SEVEN YEARS AGO
COLORADO STATE UNIVERSITY DORMS
“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Angie is tapping her red, sequined stiletto toe at me in the doorway of the room we share. She’s dressed up like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz and I’m a milkmaid. So ironic. If these kids only knew that I actually spent my childhood milking cows, they would die. But I do look damn cute in this outfit. I snicker to myself as I tie the ribbons onto the end of my braids.
“Oh, my God, Daisy! We’re going to be late!”
“Holy smokes, Angie. It’s six o’clock. We have the whole night ahead of us. Re. Lax.”
“We’re driving to Denver. And there’s traffic.”
“We’ll be fine,” I tell her, then take one last look in the mirror, adjust my milk jugs, and then cross the room and pick up my sketchbook.
“What are you doing with that?” She sneers down at my sticker-covered sketchbook.
“I told you, I have to drop it off at the TA’s office by tonight or I won’t get my grade.”
“No.” She plants a hand on her hip. “Absolutely not. We are not stopping by the art building.”
“It’s literally a hundred yards that way.” I point in some random direction.
“Nope.”
“I’ll meet you at the car then, OK?”
Angie is at the end of her rope with me. She’s an OK roommate, but if we were not sharing living quarters, she would never hang out with me. Don’t let the Dorothy costume fool you, Angie is one of those serious types. She even comes with nerd glasses. “You have ten minutes, then we’re leaving you behind. And by ten, I mean nine and a half.”
“Fine.” I grab my long, white winter coat, shoulder it on as Angie closes our door, then we bolt down the stairs as fast as we dare wearing these ridiculous shoes. When we get outside, she heads towards a crowd of girls who are also sexily dressed up for Halloween in Denver, while I go the other way, towards the art building.
It’s really not that far, but these shoes aren’t meant for walking. To make matters worse, when I get in there, I realize that I don’t actually know where the TA office is and have to ask directions from an older art professor who clearly thinks my costume is over the top. Finally, I find the right hallway, and the right door, and pull it open.
“Oh.” I stop in my tracks. Because standing before me is the most beautiful, rugged, hot, sexy, gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
He looks me up and down but good as we just stand there appreciating each other. Finally, he says, “Are you lost, Little Bo Peep?”
I almost melt into a puddle of goo at his feet, that’s how deep and rich his voice is. Instead, I giggle. “I’m a milkmaid. Little Bo Peep was last year.” I twirl the end of one of my braids around my finger.
He draws in a deep breath and makes a noise. It’s like a hum that reverberates straight to my insides. I’m not sure if it’s a ‘hmmmmm,’ or a ‘mmmmmm,’ or a growl. But I like it.
“Well, Peep, can I help you with something?” He is tall, very tall, and muscular, but not like steroid muscular. And blond. But his blue eyes are like—whoa. They are something to behold. And his tattoos. Holy shit, his cannon-sized arms are covered with red and yellow dragons. With fire. Rings of it. Lakes of it. Whole oceans of it.