I digest her words and sit on the couch to avoid wearing a path on the tiled floor. “Say more words.”
She takes a deep, Ace Ventura-sized breath before she starts. I know she’s about to lay it on me because when she breathes like that, she is choosing words that won’t send me into a frenzy but will still hit where they need to.
It’s not always the same thing as what I want to hear.
“Theo was trash. Caleb before that? Trash. And don’t even get me started on Joey.”
“What was wrong with Joey?”
I hear rustling on her end of the phone, and I know she’s adjusting in her seat.
“Are you kidding me!” she screeches. “He was named after a kangaroo. And he was a mama’s boy.”
There’s a slurping noise followed by aTHUMP, which means her water is empty and she’s mad about it. I’ll get a text from her tomorrow telling me she lost her water bottle.
“Okay, so what does all this have to do with Skye?”
“Guys suck,” she announces, plain and simple. “Women know women. Women can please women.”
I nod slowly and hate that it’s making sense. But that still doesn’t fix the feeling in my gut. The nerves, the unknown territory, the chance it’ll all fall apart.
“I don’t know how to eat the taco, Cassie!”
This makes her burst into laughter, and I can’t help joining her.
She eventually sighs and sniffles, and I can practically see her wiping a tear from her eye. “Listen, I don’t have time to teach you, especially since I’ve never been into that nether region myself, but I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“Mmhmm,” is all I manage to say. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll be needing a third alias because I’d go into hiding if I fucked that up.”
I barely recognize myself at first.
The dress is tightwith a capital T. The kind of tight that leaves no room for secrets, snacks, or poor posture. It’s black, sleek, and doing a lot of work in the confidence department.
The heels I chose tilt me forward just enough to remind me that if I trip tonight, it will be both memorable and deeply humiliating.
My hair is cooperating for the first time since my senior prom. It looks intentional, which honestly feels suspicious. The jewelry is simple, fine silver that catches the light just enough against my pale skin. Delicate lines that don’t compete with anything.
I stare at myself like I’m waiting for my reflection to ask me what I’m doing.
I look confident. Alarminglyso.
Inside, my brain is spinning.
Is this too much?
Is this not enough?
Is this a date?
Do women on dates expect this level of shine, or am I about to show up looking like I misunderstood the assignment completely?
Because this isn’t just a date, if it is a date.
It’s a date with a woman. My first woman. And I can’t deny that I do get excited when she texts me. Not to mention the fact that I almost broke the phone trying to answer it when Skye called me for the first time.
There is no rulebook. No autopilot. I can’t fall back on old habits that worked with men because I know women’s brains are way more advanced than those of an ape.
