And I’m crapping my pants. Figuratively. If it was real poop I’d at least have an excuse not to go.
It’s not that I don’t want to see him, but he didn’t tell me where we are going, what we are doing, or what I should wear, and I’m nervous AF about spending time with him one-on-one. Are we in sexy-time date territory? Or does the fact we did those few weeks long distance change the dating trajectory?
My track record of alone time with Justin Ashe hasn’t been great: Tears, panic attacks, and being cock blocked by his mother. It doesn’t really bode well for us. I’m starting to wonder if these are all signs telling me I shouldn’t get too close. Not to mention the almost concussions we keep having when we’re in each other’s airspace.
I’ve changed my outfit three times already. I shaved my legs and got my hoo-ha waxed this morning because Athena said it’s better to be over prepared and not need it, than to be caught with an unruly forest between my legs.
The beautician had to use a freakin’ ride-on lawn mower at my appointment. I left her a ridiculous tip because no one should have to deal with that first thing on a Sunday morning.
Sunday. Who the hell picks Sunday for a first date?
Thank fuck Athena’s beautician does house calls. I’m pretty sure Hen has her on retainer in case of hairy muff emergencies.
I guess the Sunday date just sums Justin up, though. He’s unconventional and constantly surprising me.
Athena’s face lights up the screen of my phone. I’m lying flopped out on my bed, and she’s going to kick my ass for not being ready yet, so I contemplate ignoring the call.
Hen: Pick up the G-D phone.
I call her back. Her brows shoot up the second the video call connects. “You’re naked.”
“Not naked, naked, just…almost naked. I’m struggling with what to wear.”
“This is my shocked face.” She deadpans pointing two fingers at her face. “If he didn’t tell you to dress up, then I’d say go casual. He’s picking you up at like four, right? So, again, that’s not a formal attire for dinner kind of date. Either wear jeans and your nice wine-colored cable knit sweater or wear some leggings with your Uggs…and your wine-colored cable knit sweater.”
“It’s as though you like my wine-colored cable knit sweater.”
“What can I say?” She shrugs. “I have good taste. Put clothes on. It’s three thirty. He’ll be there soon. I have a feeling he’s one of those guys who shows up early and calls it on time. Unless you want to answer the door in your underwear and cut straight to the fucking, you’re going to want to get some clothes on.”
It’s tempting. I’ve dreamt about it every single night since the day I saw him in the coffee shop. Every. Single. Night.
Some of the dreams were so lucid I was completely convinced they were real. I would roll over in bed, stretching my hand out and expecting to touch his chiseled abs only to find a cold and empty bed next to me.
We’ve being doing this dance around each other for long enough. I want to be his girlfriend, I want him to be my boyfriend, and I’m hoping that our busy lives and the holiday season aren’t a bad omen for us moving this thing a little farther down the tracks.
Athena is right. Someone knocks at the door at quarter to the hour, and I’m still running around half dressed. I check that it’s Justin through the peephole before I holler at him that I’ll be out in just a sec.
I jerk open the door a few minutes later, and he’s standing right there, looking all casual and sexy as hell in slacks and a shirt. There’s nothing this man can wear that he couldn’t make look good. Hell, I’m sure if he wore a T-rex costume, I’d still wanna jump his bones.
“I’m sorry. I…uh…fell asleep and only woke up when Athena called a while ago.” I can’t tell him I’ve spent the last ninety minutes flouncing around my room almost ass naked trying to figure out what the fuck to wear to see him.
He slips his hand into mine and the warmth skates up my arm. “You look beautiful.” He kisses my cheek. “Ready to go?”
We make our way out of my building and onto the street, but I don’t see his shitty car anywhere. Sounds mean, but it really is a piece of crap. I have no idea how it still runs.
“Are we walking?”
His ears turn pink. “I borrowed Apollo’s SUV. Mine’s in the shop.”
He unlocks a shiny black SUV and opens the door for me to get into the passenger seat. I’m resolved not to cry hysterically at him this time. I want us to have fun, not for me to cover his shirt in snot.
He hums along to the radio as he weaves in and out of traffic and drives through the city. Though humming is a kind term for it, he sounds like the buzz of an electric toothbrush.
When we pull up outside a laundromat, I think I’m being punked. Maybe he has to run an errand before we go for our date. I scrunch up my face. Laundry is definitely not date level material. Nope. And I just did my laundry yesterday, so he can’t even offer to do my laundry for me in some act of blissful foreplay.
What the hell is going on right now?
“Don’t think I can’t see that judgy look on your face, Savannah Jane.”
