"Well what do you think about this one?"
Aymie stepped out of the closet holding up a floor length, casual dress, cut with a deep V, multi-colored embroidery around the neckline, and colored with a deep olive hue. It was comfortable and, unlike a lot of her other clothes, didn't do much for Aymie's shape. She figured it would be perfect and she showed off the dress to Derek, who was lounging comfortably on her bed, shirtless, browsing some social media site on his phone.
"It looks fine, babe," he answered, without even looking.
Aymie threw a hanger at him. "You didn't even see it!"
Derek looked over after she totally missed him with the hanger and lofted a brow. "Why do you care so much about what you're wearing? It's your own party. Just wear what you have on."
Aymie looked down at herself in her near see through tank top and high-waisted jeans. She pursed her lips. No, this wouldn't do. It showed off too much. She wanted to fade into the crowd tonight, to not draw attention to herself.
Especially not his attention.
She resigned to the olive dress and pulled it out of the close completely, rummaging her drawers for a patterned bandeau to wear beneath the deep V, making it much more conservative. She'd tie her hair up in a bun and wear minimal makeup. That would certainly do the trick. She shut the door and began to undress, stripping down bare in front of Derek so that she could change.
He perked up immediately. "Mmm... Have I told you today that you're fucking stunning?" he asked, pushing up off of the bed to come over and put his hands on her.
Aymie stepped out of his grip immediately. "Yeah, you did earlier. But thank you." She shot him a forced smile over her shoulder and started pulling on the bandeau
Derek stepped in and tried to stop her. "You know there's still like, an hour before guests will show up. We could always...entertain ourselves." His tone spoke of much more than innocent entertainment and he placed his hands on her hips again, guiding her backside into his pelvis, where he already had the beginnings of an erection.
Aymie stiffened at the feel of it and stepped away again. "My mom might need help in the kitchen. I can't."
Derek let her go this time, and sat back down on the bed, keeping quiet and adjusting himself in his pants. After she'd pulled on the bandeau and the dress, he spoke up. "Is everything alright, babe?"
Aymie stopped and turned to look at him. "...Y-Yeah, why?" She felt a lump in her throat.
He reached up to scratch at the back of his head. "I don't know, you just seem a little distant. We've hardly spoken the last couple days and...well," he gestured to her. "You don't want me to touch you. That's like, a first for you."
She sighed and started to pull up her hair. He was right, of course. Rather than come clean and confess to Derek the moments she shared with Mr. Davis, she distanced herself from him near entirely except to invite him to tonight's party. Every time they spoke, the words threatened to tumble out, so she said as little as possible in an effort to put the whole thing behind her. Judging by her increasing heart rate as the day drew closer and closer to the party, and the near constant wetness between her legs from that anticipation, she was failing miserably.
Why did mom have to invite Mr. Davis? They hardly even talked and even when they did, it was little more than a passing 'hi, how are you' type of conversation; certainly not the type that two good friends would have. Maybe he wouldn't even show up. She knew that was unlikely, but Aymie held onto that sliver of hope that she was getting all worked up for nothing. After all, Max was still in a cast and needed to be looked after. Maybe Mr. Davis wouldn't ever step through her front door.
That thought made Aymie's chest tighten. She knew she'd be disappointed if he didn't come. Damn it all, but she had such a strong want for him to be near her. Something she didn't even understand, let alone know what to do with, and it made her stomach well up with butterflies.
"I don't know, Derek, sometimes things just...shift." She tied up her hair in a loose bun that let tendrils of her locks hang down around her neck. "Things aren't always going to be exactly the way they've always been. We grow and we...change and...I don't know." She put a headband atop her head and pushed her hair back from her face. "Things change."
Derek watched her and then ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, alright. You're right, I guess." He stood up and started pulling on his shirt. "Just feels like you don't want me anymore."
That made Aymie stop in her tracks. For fuck's sake, it had only been three days. It's not like she was holding out for months on end. She welled up with irritation and grimaced at her reflection in the mirror when she saw her cheeks reddening, her face growing hot. Derek tugged on his shirt and left her in there, heading out into the other room. Aymie heaved a sigh. Of course she still wanted him, she loved Derek! Just because she hadn't thought about him sexually in three days didn't mean she didn't want him anymore.
Did it?
Aymie shook her head and tried not to think about it. She dabbed on a bit of under-eye concealer and a sheer lip gloss, applied her roll-on perfume and put on some deodorant, then eyed herself in the mirror. She looked average, and that was exactly what she was shooting for. Nothing too fancy, but also not overly frumpy either. Something that would blend in with everyone else.
"Aym, honey, can you come out and help me with the pasta salad?" Rosaline called.
Aymie breathed deeply and looked at the clock. It was 45 minutes until the party's start. Hopefully she'd be able to keep her shit together and not make a fool out of herself whenever Mr. Davis came. Well, if he came. She was thankful that Derek was here, even if he was acting weird. She could cling to him all night and show Mr. Davis that this was who she really belonged with...even if her body was telling her the exact opposite.
-----
"Alright, Maxy, how do I look?"
Jackson stood in front of the dog, clad in a pair of charcoal grey slacks and his wingtips, a dark brown leather belt, and a deep red button up, unbuttoned at the top. He had the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his leather-banded wrist watch on, his hair tousled and styled, beard trimmed, and cologne applied. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he looked damn good. This old man could clean up nice, when he wanted to.
He turned around to face Max, giving the dog a full frontal view, to which Max tilted his head to one side. Jackson chuckled. "Right? When was the last time I dressed up like this?"
Max laid his head down on the dog bed and exhaled heavily, his eyes drooping. Jack had given him his pain med with dinner, so the golden retriever was on his way to sleep already. He was surprised by how active Max wanted to be already, only a few days after his surgery, and it was actually a struggle to keep him resting. Poor guy had a six to eight week recovery time, and he wanted to do laps around the house after three days. Those pain meds must have been doing their job.
Jackson gave Max a pat on the head and headed out to the kitchen to finish packing up his veggie tray. He'd sliced up carrots, broccoli, celery, some peppers, and a few radishes, then added french onion and ranch dip into containers and put them all on a tray. Now he fetched that tray out of the refrigerator and bagged it up, then jogged up the stairs to his bedroom to fetch his coat.
He'd forgotten about the toys all splayed on the bed. He admired the assortment for a moment, his eyes catching sight of the satin mask, and the anal plugs. He had a delicious idea come into his mind and he stuffed that mask and the smallest steel plug into his pockets, possibly to be used later. Then, he donned his coat, went back downstairs for his veggie tray and snatched up his keys and wallet, then headed out the door.
He ensured to close and lock the front door, then peeked over at the Monroe house. There were people on the back deck, people out in the front yard, and people inside. He could hear some soft music playing from inside over the dull thrum of conversation. He dreaded the small talk, the awkward party conversation, but he knew he'd settle in eventually. There was always good food and good company to be had at these types of get togethers if one knew where to look, and Jack had a good eye for people. He'd settle in with the right folks after a drink or two, and the night would go by easily enough.
At least until he got his hands on Aymie Ann. And he planned to.
Jackson wandered into the house without knocking, and found his way to the kitchen to drop off the veggie tray with a few hellos to the party guests. Where his interior design was made up of all dark colors and gentle, wood decor, the Monroe house was bright and cheerful. Every wall was white, but covered with decorations, pictures, paintings, and unique artwork. The couches in the living room were covered with colorful, woven afghans and fun throw pillows, the rugs were all warm and shaggy and inviting, and the general energy of the house was charming and sincere. All were welcome here, and the Monroes made that known.
Jack wandered into the living room and took in some of the art pieces that were hanging. A few of them looked a big childish, with harsh lines and contrasting colors, and others were broad landscapes with beautiful sunsets, or moonlit fields with grass blowing in an unseen breeze. This must have been what Aymie was talking about when she said she liked painting. Jackson found himself smiling; this girl had a real talent, and she was passionate about it. He looked at canvas after canvas, trying to discern the meanings behind each piece, the hidden emotion or thought that went into each tiny detail.
"Aymie, this might be your best work yet!"
A voice rose among the rest from the next room and Jack turned, making his way over in that direction. A small crowd had gathered within the tiny, well-lit room, where unfinished paintings were scattered at the base of the walls, paints sat upon shelves next to dirty aprons, and tarps were splayed out across the floor. In the center sat a gorgeous piece, displayed on an easel, that looked so realistic, it could have been a photograph.
