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He nods wordlessly.
“I figure it’s a good foundation for making our date a success.”
August’s head whips around toward me.
“You…” He swallows. “You still want to do that?”
“A lot.”
Instead of perking up, August slumps lower into the couch.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I just realized you’re also too good to be true.”
I laugh.
“Trust me, I’ve got plenty of flaws.”
“As of right now, I’ve yet to see any.”
“Well, obviously. I can’t just throw them at you all at once. I’ll reveal them slowly like a normal person. But here’s a tidbit to tide you over: I hog the blankets.”
He sighs and shakes his head.
“I suppose I can work with that.”
He sends me a tentative grin, and I smile back, feeling better than I have in days, even though my head still hurts, and my mouth still tastes horrible.
“So, a date?” I ask. “Dinner?”
“I’ll do the cooking,” he says. “It’s the least I can do after fucking up our first date.”
I shrug.
“Cool. Saturday?”
“Saturday,” he says.
Tomorrow can’t get here fast enough.
I trudge home, feeling like a million bucks. That is, until I reach my apartment and realize that along with my phone and wallet, I also have no clue where my keys are. I stare at my front door for a little while, trying to figure out what to do, when I hear a voice from the hallway.
“Did you find him?” Madeline asks just as she steps out from around the corner. She stops and looks at me, eyes narrowing. “Never mind. He’s here.” She listens to whatever is said on the other end of the line and nods. “Yeah, okay. Fine. Kicking him in the balls for you will be my pleasure.”
I wince and put on my most charming smile as she hangs up. She storms toward me, looking like she’s ready to end my life.
“Whoa,” I say, raising my hands to ward her off. “There will be no ball kicking.”
“There absolutely will be ball kicking. Do you have any idea how worried we all have been? You go out with friends and then just disappear from the bar without saying a word to anybody! Who does that?”
I wince. That was not my brightest move. As for what I was thinking? Impossible to say, seeing as I barely remember anything of the night.
“In my defense, I was really drunk.”
“That only makes everything worse, you jackass.”
She steps past me, unlocks my apartment door, and marches inside. I follow her and try to replace my August-induced grin with something suitably remorseful. I find Madeline standing in the middle of my living room with her hands on her hips.
