Jeremy’s face has a smile on it as he pulls his wet wallet from his jeans pocket and sets it in the enclosed bed of the Bronco, next to his ruined watch. But it doesn’t look completely genuine. He looks… if I’m totally honest? A little constipated.
And just like that, any frustration I felt at him for throwing us into the deep blue drains from my body. I might look disgusting, but I can’t let him feel bad about being spontaneous. I mean, isn’t that something I usually admire in people?
“Hey,” I say, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. And when they do, I know that I couldn’t be upset at him anymore even if I wanted to. “I’m not mad about the dip in the water. I promise.” I reach over and rest my hand on his. “I’d rather be dripping wet with you than dry with someone else.”
The minute the words come out of my mouth, his eyes widen and he looks like he’s choking on a laugh.
I roll my eyes, but can’t help the giggle that pops from my mouth. “Okay,” I say, drawing out the word, wishing I could be flirty and dirty in this moment but struggling to find something to say. “So what’s next, mister?” I decide that moving this date along is the best course of action. Would I prefer an hour or two to get myself back to what I deem date-worthy in hair and make up? Yes. Do I have that? No. So my choice is to suck it up and enjoy the evening, or pout like a little asshole and make him take us home.
I hop off the tailgate and strike a pose, “We strutting our fine selves down the boardwalk?”
He pauses to look at me. “You’re still up to wander around?”
I furrow my brow. “Did you not see the complete insanity that was my reaction to coming here? I may be in sweats and boots, smell like a dog, and have mascara dripping down my face, but I willnotgive up on this extravaganza.” I throw my hands into the air. “I am here to be entertained!”
He smiles and nods, chucking the rest of our stuff into the back of the Bronco. “Well, then. We can’t disappoint the lady.”
I huff. “Of course we can’t.”
“My god, does it ever stop?” he says with a laugh, closing up and locking the doors.
I just point to myself. “I told you. Jester.”
He grabs my hand and we start walking to the boardwalk, chatting about all things random. The more we walk and talk, the more I see Jeremy’s flirty confidence return. He eyes me up and down, flirts his fingers with mine, rests his hands on my hips… I’m getting smacked with a wall of in-your-face interest. And in reality? I don’t entirely know how to respond.
In the past, I was the one with the confidence, the one doing the flirty thing with the guys. I’d touch their shoulder or smooth out their hair, or brush past them just slightly. It was an ego boost, for sure. And the guys ate it up.
But Jeremy… he’s this entirely different breed of man that my eighteen-year-old self hasn’t come across before. He reeks of confidence, but every so often there is the hint of vulnerability there too. I can tell he’s a man who likes to be in control, which feeds the kid inside of me who lived in an overly controlled environment, and he looks just a bit frazzled when heisn’tin control of the situation. I know how horrible that feels, too.
So, now that I’m faced with the reality of his confidence and flirtation, I feel a bit more nervous. Heaps more overwhelmed than I had originally felt when agreeing to this date.
Ugh, get out of your head, Charlotte. Just enjoy this date with the hottest guy you’ve ever had acknowledge your presence.
The cool thing about visiting a place like Venice Beach is that it’s filled with weirdos, so no one looks twice at you if you’re in sweats and sexy boots. I find that the more he talks to me – like now, about how he got into playing soccer – the less concerned I am about what other people think I look like.
After a while of wandering outside, I spot an independent bookstore and lead us inside. When I see the Clearance section, I make a beeline straight for it. I’m not a big reader, but I love do-it-yourself books. Not things like “Weight Loss for Dummies” or “Anybody Can Be Cool… But Awesome Takes Practice” – which is a real book I found once, no joke. I’m more about the ones that teach you to crochet or make loom potholders with the illustrative photos and bright colors. It’s how I got really into hair and makeup. There was this tiny bookstore in my hometown of Kilburn that had Bookworm Wednesdays, and all of the clearance books would drop to a dollar or less.
We had tons of money growing up. If I’d asked my mom for any new toy or gadget or, when I got into my teen years, a new car or a trip into Omaha to go shopping at the outlets, there wouldn’t have been an issue. But ask her for money to buy do-it-yourself books? I’d tried that once.
“Why would you pay for books to learn how to do it when you can just pay a person to do it instead?”
Yeah, that conversation had been scintillating.
So any time my mom would give me money for something, and she said to keep the change, I’d take the coins and toss them into an empty shoebox in my closet. And on Wednesdays after school, I’d head to The Bookworm Shoppe and browse. I rarely ever bought anything, but I did find some great books on doing smoky eyes and really interesting braids. Sure, I could have just watched YouTube tutorials, but there was something satisfying about tucking my new-to-me book into my backpack and then returning home, knowing I was going to wait for mom and dad to go to some dinner or swanky thing to crack it open and practice.
Grey always sat and watched me, helping some of the time, even knowing his friends would have teased him mercilessly about doing hair and makeup with his sister. But Issy would huff and storm off, frustrated that I was breaking the rules – again – and probably going to get away with it – again.
There’s always a thrill I get when digging through clearance bins at bookstores. Even finding older books that have women with hair like Farrah Fawcett’s, I still can’t help but smile.
I’m running my fingers along the clearance shelves for who knows how long when I bump into someone.
“Sorry.” I look up and finding Jeremy’s eyes on me. “Oh my god.” I clutch my hands together and press them to my mouth. “How long was I zoned out?” I ask, speaking through my fingers, my eyes wide.
He smiles. “Only about 15 minutes. No big deal. I had fun watching you. You wereveryfocused.”
I laugh through my hands and exhale a breath, glad that he isn’t offended. “I getreallyinto this sometimes,” I say. “I love hair and makeup, and some of these old-school supermodels have classic looks that never go out of style.
He steps towards me. It’s just a normal step, nothing rushed or calculated about it, but I can’t help the hitch to my breath at his sudden nearness. Maybe it’s because we’re in a slightly darker corner, or because I’m suddenly pressed up against the bookshelf behind me. Regardless, the surge of energy that flows through my body when he gets close to me… it’s a heady feeling.
