Vicious Romance

Chapter 7

I give myself a good look in the mirror, one last time. I don't know why I agreed to this. I look horrendous. Absolutely horrendous. Why did Ben pick this outfit?

I'm wearing a red spaghetti strap dress, ending just above my mid-thigh. It isn't my style. It's too... showy. And tight. It hugs my entire upper body to the point that it's outlining my curves. My legs have a soft caramel like color to them, making them appear long and toned. Unusual. This usually looks good on other girls- but on me, it's... unusual.

And my hair... was it wavy... or curly? A hybrid? I don't know. I just know that this is beyond my usual style, and I don't know why I ever agreed to let Ben style me.

To a stranger, I might look normal, almost pretty, but the woman in the mirror wasn't me, it's an alien figure.

Maybe this is what Alina was supposed to look like.

I sigh and focus on my face. At least my makeup's on point. This was the only thing Ben let me do. My mascara highlights my eyelashes, but not to the point where they look like a spider's legs. The blush, the lipstick, everything was also looking nice and gave me a natural look. This is what I was going for- but of course, Ben's dress and hair contradicted that.

I finally turn away from the mirror and get my clutch from the kitchen counter. I catch the blinking red light of the camera that's hidden on the fridge. Right, I never observed the cameras last night.

Frick. I got so busy prepping myself for the date, I forgot about my job. I really am terrible.

Oh well, I guess I would have to work on all of this spy-related stuff, tomorrow. For now, I have to get through this terrifying date. I hope it goes well. I need this, I really, really need this.

I think.

Is there anything I'm forgetting?

I start to make my way to the door but remember something. I need my gun. I forgot to bring it with me yesterday, but today, I should bring it, just in case. Just in case if I need to play hero on the streets. Or if I need to defend myself.

Actually, I don't need a reason to carry my gun. I want to carry it.

I walk to my closet and open one of the many drawers in it. It's my sock drawer. I dig through it until I find my handgun buried in socks. I pull it out and smile.

Okay, so where I can put this? It won't fit in my purse. Can I strap a holster to my thigh? Or will the dress hug the gun, like it's hugging my body? I sigh. It's definitely going to cling to the gun, outlining it. If not, then it will definitely show through my thigh gap.

After several minutes of thinking, I trade my heels for some white high tops, and place the gun on the bed of the shoe, and place my foot on top. Gross, uncomfortable, and weird. But how else am I supposed to carry my gun? I repeat the same process with my other shoe, and a smile covers my face.

Now, I'm ready.

I pick up my clutch once again and exit the apartment.

Stepping out of the building, and onto the sidewalk, I discreetly eye the Whole Foods across the street, half expecting Noah to burst out the doors.

Of course, that doesn't happen.

I stand on the sidewalk, waving my hand, maniacally, trying to summon a cab. I could take my car, but I don't want to expose my real identity to my date... not yet at least.

Which is why I'm going by cab.

A little yellow cab pulls up to the road next to me. I open the rear door and sit in, and snap the door shut behind me. The driver asks me where I would like to go, as his head swivels in my direction. He looks at me, and his jaw drops.