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“Guess I’ll go have first shower, huh?”
“And then you’ll come back and help clean this mess up,” Paula orders me. She shakes her head at Darcy and me. “And you two are supposed to be adults.”
“Sorry, Paula. I’ll make sure it never happens again,” I say, giving her an apologetic smile.
I turn around and walk out, checking my messages along the way. My smile vanishes when I click on Darcy’s new text.
Darcy: I’m pretty sure things don’t get much more interesting than pleasuring myself under the table, while my future little stepbrother starts a food fight.
My breath catches in my throat. That’s what she was doing?
Fuck me.
If I’d known, I would have been paying much closer attention…
I close the bathroom door and sit down on the edge of the tub.
Me: What do you say we meet?
Darcy: Sure. When?
Me: Friday night, if you’re free? There’s a little bar opposite The Intercontinental Hotel. I can’t remember the name of it, but it’s got a blue sign.
Darcy: Twisted Monkey Bar?
I grin. I’m impressed that she knows it, to be honest.
Me: That’s the one. How about nine?
Darcy: Sure. I’ll see you then. How will I know who you are?
Me: Text me when you get there, and I’ll come to the door.
I ignore the stab of guilt. She’s probably really into the idea of meeting James and it’s making me feel like a bit of an asshole. I try to shake off the guilt. We haven’t done anything but exchange a few messages, so there's no way she could be feeling anything yet.
So what if she’s looking forward to meeting some guy that she has no idea is really me?
I’m just having a little bit of fun. At least I’m doing the right thing and telling her before things get out of hand. Then why do I feel so guilty all of a sudden?After cleaning every last smudge of food from the dining room walls, I’m finally back home. I toss my keys on the counter and pour myself a drink and I then wander into to the living room and sprawl out on the couch. The paint smell is still pretty strong, but it’s not as bad as earlier, thanks to the few windows I left cracked open.
I switch on the TV, just to create some noise, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about Darcy. I thought being there and watching her react to my messages would be hilarious. And it was at first, just like it was the other day at breakfast, but as the night dragged on, it became less funny as the guilt began to take over. Now I’m beginning to question whether this was really that funny in the first place.
Not that it really matters. Whether I tell her, or she figures it out when we meet on Friday, she’s going to find out. She’ll be walking into that bar, looking for me, only she’ll have no idea it’s me she’s looking for.
I stop channeling my inner Lionel Richie when my phone buzzes.
I stare at the message and feel even worse.
Darcy: I’m really forward to meeting you. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like we’ve clicked.
The longer I stare at the text, the worse I feel, so I eventually type back a generic reply and switch my phone off and head to bed. If she’s angry at me to begin with, it won’t last. She’ll see the funny side of it eventually.
She has to.Chapter EightDarcyWhy am I so nervous?
I know it’s only been a few days, but I feel like we’ve clicked. Maybe we won’t have that same connection in person, but it’s worth a try, right? At the very worst, maybe I’ve made a new friend. But if there’s the potential for more…then why the hell not?
I have a shower, then I get changed. I lift the dress over my head, shivering as it falls down over my hips. The thin material hugs my curves, falling halfway down my thighs. I smooth my hands down over the soft black chiffon as I examine my reflection in the mirror. I frown, because it shows much more skin than I was expecting, but I look good. Though if Mom saw this, she wouldn’t let me out of the house.
I brush my hair, then twist it into a loose bun, fastening it with clips on top of my head. Loose strands fall around my face. Some mascara and a little lip gloss finish off my look, then I grab my purse—and a jacket, in case I run into Mom downstairs, and walk out.I take a deep breath and walk through the front doors of the bar. I do a lot of crazy shit, but right now, this feels like the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Hell, I don’t even get nervous when I go on a real date, so how is some random guy I’ve never even met making me feel like this?
