“He’s perfect in a way that I couldn’t have picked a better man for you if I had tried. He supports you, protects you,defendsyou. God, that situation last week at the stadium with the asshole? I would’ve soaked right through my panties and jumped into bed with him that night.”
Well, half of that happened…
I pull myself from her hold and turn away. “Listen, I get that you love Ryan, but it’s not worth the risk. I’m up for a promotionif all of this work with the Suns goes well. Which could solve all those issues you’ve just mentioned,” I say, effectively shutting down her argument.
The worst part of this whole conversation is that she’s right. I hadn’t been happy. Not entirely, at least. And there’s nothing more painful than having to stare that truth in the face. Having your best friend hold a mirror to your face and point out everything about you that’s no longeryou. The pieces of yourself that you’ve sacrificed somewhere along the way to achieve this abstract idea of success. It’s a sun that burns and blinds the longer you stare directly at it.
She sighs with defeat. “Fine. But you’re nervous. Why would you be nervous about a ‘date’ with a friend? Hmm?”
“Thanks for reminding me of the nerves,” I deadpan, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You’re a true friend.”
“It’s what I’m here for, babes.” She settles in on my bed. “So, what are you planning to wear?”
“I have no idea.” I tug on my freshly styled hair, which only makes me panic that I’m going to ruin it, and quickly drop my hands back to my sides where I fiddle with the hem of the towel wrapped around my body.
“Well, what are you guys doing? Is it a fancy date? Laid back? Somewhere in between?” She peppers me with questions like I’m under interrogation. Only problem is, I don’t know the answers.
I walk over to where my phone is sitting on my dresser and navigate to my conversation with Ryan, throwing the phone in her direction so she can read them for herself while I head to my closet to sort through potential outfits.
“What the hell does this even mean?” she exclaims. It makes me smile because that’s the same exact reaction I had.
The message in question?
Ryan
I’ll pick you up at 6pm. Dress casual
What the fuck is casual?Sweats? Jeans? A dress? Like what scale of casual are we going for?
Business casual? Smart casual?Casualcasual?
“Now you see my problem,” I reply. I pull a sage green sundress off the rack and inspect it. “Think a dress is casual, or no?”
“Depends on the dress. Pull all the ones you’re thinking of.”
I start pulling every sundress I own out of my closet until I have a mountain of clothes piled on my bed.
“We have thirty minutes to pick a winner. Let’s get started!” Jordan says with a clap of her hands.
I’m slippinginto my tennis shoes when the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it!” Jordan singsongs from the living room as I hear her scramble to get off the couch and make her way to the door.
I roll my eyes at her enthusiasm as I grab my purse hanging on the back of my bedroom door and slip my phone inside. Casting one more glance at myself in the mirror, I double check everything is still in order.
It’s a casual day with a friend. It’s not that serious.
I let out a shaky breath as I fuss with the way my bangs are sitting. I tried to keep things more relaxed because—as I’m still trying to convince myself—it’s not a real date. It’s just two friends hanging out. I’ve left my hair down in messy waves and kept my makeup to my usual work routine. I didn’t want it to seem like I’m trying too hard. With Jordan’s help, we ended uppicking the sage sundress with little ivory flowers spotted across it because it’s fitted enough in the top to accentuate my breasts—not that I’m trying to accentuate them—and flowy enough in the skirt that I can move freely.
With everything in order, I switch off the light and step out into the living room where I find Jordan smirking while she chats with Ryan.
Ryan, who looks absolutely fuckable. That’s an official assessment. He’s in a black Henley with the sleeves pushed up, putting his forearms on display, and a pair of dark wash jeans that hug his hips in the best way. He’s dressed down—casual some might say—but he still looks like he put thought and effort into his look. He’s let his hair free from the baseball cap that is his staple and instead it’s the right amount of mussed. The kind that looks effortless, but youknowhe spent a good amount of time running his hands through it until he got it to sitjust right. The thought almost makes me snort out a laugh, but I do my best to hold it inside.
When he finally catches sight of me, his entire body straightens. His eyes slowly drag their way down my body and then back up, tripping on the hem of my dress before landing on my face, heat following the path they take.
“Wow,” he coughs out. “You look great.”
“How casual is casual? Should I go change? Am I overdressed?” I rapid-fire questions at him because seeing him standing there in jeans and a Henley makes me think maybe I’m too overdressed for whatever it is we’re doing. I start to backtrack toward my room with every intention of changing, when he shoots forward a step and throws up a hand.
