Also, the preview from the first page will be changed slightly.
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Ross gazed intently into the mirror, tightening his jaw and attempting for the fifth time to tie his tie straightly. The gel was already placed strategically in his hair, the cologne applied, and he'd picked out what he thought to be an appropriate outfit for the occasion-- sexy but classy.
"Screw it," he sighed, throwing the tie to the side and deciding to, instead, unbutton the collar and go more casually. With that, he stepped back and gave himself a good once-over. 'Not too bad,' he thought. He'd chosen a pair of khaki dress pants with a brown belt and a pressed white dress shirt. Nothing too flashy, but then again, he wasn't sure how flashy this dinner was supposed to be. He didn't know much of anything about it at all.
He'd spoken to Rachel earlier that day and she'd told him to be at the Marriott in Times Square at 8 o'clock. She'd have to be there early to help set up, so he couldn't pick her up, putting a damper on the real 'date' atmosphere. He didn't really care, though. All that mattered was that he'd somehow made it to the end of the week and he could finally see her again. It had been torturous, mundanely droning through each hour of each day until he could be reunited with her. It had been all he'd thought of, and it was finally here.
He walked out into the living room where Carver was watching TV. Though his roommate hadn't been very supportive in the beginning, when Ross had come home after that night spent with her, Carver had been able to see immediately that this girl wasn't going away any time soon; that she was for real.
"You leaving already?" Carver asked, looking down at his watch. "It's only like 6:30."
"Yeah, I know, but I want to pick up some flowers and catching a cab's going to be Hell at this time of day."
"Alright, well take it easy. Oh, and hey," he added, catching Ross right before he exited the door. Ross braced himself for some asshole, insensitive Carverism. "I really hope you have a good time, man," he finished, catching Ross off guard.
"Oh, um...well, thanks," Ross answered, smiling and nodding. With that, he was on his way.
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"Erica, will you come here for a sec?" Rachel shouted from the bathroom, holding a surfeit of bobby pins in her mouth, the straight iron in one hand and keeping her dress up with the other.
"Yeah, what's the--" Erica began, immediately lapsing into hysterics when she entered the bathroom to find her roommate in her current predicament. "Oh, wow, aren't we sexy?"
"Yeah, laugh it up, but will you please hold like all of this while I put my dress on?" She asked, hanging it all to Erica.
"What, were you trying to do everything simultaneously?" Erica asked, balancing every girly product known to man in her arms while watching her roommate in befuddlement.
"I don't know! Argh, I'm just so nervous and I have to be there in like 30 minutes and I'm not even close to ready and the name tags all got screwed up and the caterer--"
"Woah, woah, woah!" Erica calmed. "One thing at a time!"
"No, you're right," Rachel nodded, breathing deeply and gaining some poise. "What's first?"
"You cannot wear those panties with that dress."
"What?" Rachel asked, almost indignantly. She didn't have time for Erica's crazy antics. "Why the hell not?"
"They don't match. You ARE planning on getting some tonight, right? Do you really want Hottie McGee to tear off that black dress and find a navy blue thong underneath? That's a no-no, honey."
"Erica, men TOTALLY don't care about lingerie! Everyone knows women only buy this stuff to impress one another. Ross had just as soon want me to wear nothing as--"
"Oh, now there's an idea," Erica joked, raising an eyebrow.
"Ugh, Erica, you're impossible! You know what, though? Fine," she appeased, removing the underwear and running naked out of the bathroom, up the stairs and into her room to retrieve an almost identical lacy thong, only this one was black. She adorned it and modeled it for Erica at the top of the stairs.
"Happy?" she asked. Erica smiled and nodded as Rachel shook her head, descending the stairs. "You know, we could have filmed this little charade and sold it online to some 12-year-old boy for hundreds," Rachel wagered jokingly.
"Alright, back on track," Erica announced. "Put on that cute little strapless number, I'll iron your hair, you style it, and I'll pick out your jewelry. Now, go!" With that, the girls were off.
Even as a hundred things flooded Rachel's mind at once, through it all, his boyishly handsome smiling face remained in her thoughts. She couldn't wait for him to see her tonight. She couldn't wait to see him.
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The ballroom of the Marriott was decorated beautifully when guests began arriving. White Christmas lights were strewn around everywhere, a giant swan ice statue that doubled as a fountain sat in the middle of the room and a live band was beginning their set on the stage at the far end. Everyone was dressed stylishly, and dozens of models donning items from the upcoming season's line were mingling with the guests. Meanwhile, Rachel was sitting at a table on the edge of the room recovering from the near coronary she'd had trying to put most of it together.
She'd cleaned up well, though, finally making it on time in a stunningly sexy, short, black, satin strapless dress by Prada. She'd flat ironed her hair, giving it a sleek shiny look, and then arranged it in that sort of secretly-complicated-yet-casual-looking-messy-fixture that women somehow pull off using thousands of invisible bobby pins. Her make-up was applied in natural earthy tones-- her eyes smoky and her skin flawless. To set it off, she was wearing strappy black "fuck me" stillettos All in all, she was a completely different person from that tattered girl Ross had met so many weeks ago in the laundry mat. She smiled when she thought of how winded he would undoubtedly be when he saw her.
She looked up at the clock on the wall and noticed it was almost 8. 'I'll scan the room once before I go out to meet him,' she thought to herself. She did kind of want to show herself off to her colleagues, and she was eager to see what everyone else looked like and to revel in what she'd spent so much time putting together.
She hadn't made it ten feet before he spotted her and their eyes locked; the one person she'd been praying to avoid tonight.
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"Thanks," Ross threw out to the cabbie, exiting the vehicle and handing over his money.
Behind him, the yellow car sped away and the true underlying nightlife of commercialized New York City was beginning to buzz all around him. Tourists snapped pictures, couples walked hand-in-hand, horns honked, tires screeched, and lights flashed. He stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the red sign reading 'Marriott' and took a deep breath.
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"Rachel," he whispered, approaching her with an almost twisted smile on his face.
"Mark," she deadpanned, her tone monotonous and her face stern.
"You look--"
"Don't start," she pleaded, shaking her head and looking around the room, desperately searching for any excuse to leave the conversation before it even began.
"What's the matter?" he asked smugly. "I can't even tell you how sex you are? From what I remember, you always liked that."
"Mark..." she warned, her voice threatening. "What do you want?" She looked around nervously, like she was afraid to be seen with him. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. She got the chills just talking to him.
"Oh, not much," he teased, smiling and stuffing his hands pompously into his pockets. "Just a dance."
"I don't dance," she lied. He knew it was a lie, too. They'd dance plenty of times before, and he didn't hesitate to remind her of this.
"Oh, I think you dance pretty well," he whispered, leaning in closer to her face and reaching out to graze her hip lightly with his fingers. She jerked away out of reflex.
"Stop it," she cautioned, looking into his eyes for the first time and sending him an evil look. "I don't dance with you."
"Aw, come on, Rach." He was almost begging now. "You and I used to have so much fun together. You can't even talk to me now?"
"We're talking, aren't we?" she rebuked harshly.
"No," he shook his head, locking his gaze on her. He was undressing her with his eyes. She could tell. Somehow...somehow, he was having an effect on her. "No, this isn't talking. This isn't us, Rach." He reached out to touch her cheek. She was surprised at herself when she didn't pull away. 'No,' she thought. 'Don't let him reel you into this."
"There never was an 'us', Mark," she reminded him.
"There wasn't? Wow, well then I must just be imagining all of those multiple orgasms I gave you," he whispered, chuckling deviously and reaching out for her arm.
"It was just sex," she insisted, and for a moment she thought she might be trying to convince herself of that more so than him.
"Oh, I think it was more than that, and you know it," he spat, his tone suddenly harsh and offensive. He tightened his grip on her arm, jerking her closer to him. She had to stifle a yelp from the jolt of bruising pain.
"Mark, stop it, you're hurting me," she whispered, not wanting to make a scene. She looked around and was surprised when no one seemed to notice what was happening right in the middle of the dance floor.
"I thought you liked it rough, baby," he teased evilly, being so brazen as to actually lean in and bite her earlobe.
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"Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where the main ballroom is?" Ross asked the concierge at the front desk.
"Are you a guest of the Prada benefit?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah, that's the one. I'm with Rachel Green."
The man scanned the list with his finger and finally came to Rachel's name.
"It's at the very end of this hallway," he man informed. "It's just begun."
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"Mark, let go of me right now, you're making a scene," Rachel maintained, trying her best not to vomit from the feeling of Mark's breath on her face and tongue in her ear.
"I can make a much bigger scene if you don't come quietly," he warned, pressing his fingers more firmly into her flesh, causing her to wince. "Well, actually, I guess you never did come quietly," he punned.
"You're disgusting," she spat at him, unable to believe she was even in this situation. Of every bad decision she'd ever made, she regretted Mark the most.
"I think I can change your mind," he predicted, running his other hand over her ass and up the back of her thigh.
"Mark, stop it!" she nearly yelled, attempting to physically push him away this time. People were really dancing around her, now, making it all but impossible to distinguish between her predicament and the typical grindings associated with 'dancing' these days.
"I don't think you want me to stop," he gambled. "I think you haven't been fucked like you deserve in a long time, and I think you like it," he all but grunted into her ear, punctuating it with a flick of his tongue against her temple. She was about to tell him that she'd actually been 'fucked' quite nicely not a week ago by a man who was quickly becoming the potential love of her life...but the sight of a figure at the door stopped her in her tracks.
Him.
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His breath caught in his throat and his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest.
It was her...Rachel...his Rachel...all but making out with a tall, dark, devastatingly handsome man. His hands were on her and his mouth was at her ear...and she wasn't stopping it. It actually looked like she was enjoying it, but he couldn't tell, because a warm salty liquid was already threatening his eyes and he felt like he was going to vomit.
He turned on his heels and began back the way he'd come.
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"Oh, God, Ross!" she breathed, finally jerking free from Mark's embrace.
"Ross? Who the fuck's Ross?" he asked, standing dumbfounded in her tracks as she pushed and shoved her way through the crowd of gyrating people.
She had to get to him. She couldn't even imagine what had gone through his mind when he'd seen the compromising position Mark had her in. She hated that bastard-- even more than before, now, if that was possible. She caught up with him in the glass vestibule between the lobby and the street.
"Ross!" she called, running to the door and standing in front of it, blocking it off. His hand had barely touched the glass before she'd obstructed his exit. She found herself void of all reason and words, his big, dark, puppy dog eyes staring down at her, filled with engagement and intrigue.
"What?" he asked coldly.
"Wait," she begged.
"Why did you ask me here, Rachel?" he asked pointedly, sighing in mid sentence and sagging his shoulders in exhaustion."Was it so I'd see you with him? Well, you should have saved yourself the trouble and just told me you had a boyfriend."
"Ross!" she blurted out in disbelief, obviously offended. "Is that really what you think?"
"Well isn't that what happened?"
"I invited you here because we're friends!"
"Yeah?" he asked, right on the heels of her testament. "Do you invite all of your friends up for a little roll in the hay after coffee?"
That one stung. She couldn't even conjure up an appropriately sarcastic, edgy comeback. She was frozen cold by his words. The worst part was that he was right.
"Or were you getting to that after dinner?" he added, only harshening the previous comment's effect.
"You know what? Maybe you should leave," she suggested. He leaned into her, putting his mouth beside her ear as if in preparation for revealing some sort of secret.
"I was." Unable to say anything more and too frustrated to continue the conversation at all, she stepped out of his way and let him proceed. She watched as he eyed her one last time, shoved his hands into his pockets, and retreated out the door.
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End Chapter 5. Continued in Chapter 6.