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“Okay, see you in ten? I’m in a black sedan, parked by the curb. I think I’m in a no parking zone, so if someone comes around, I’ll circle the block. Don’t rush. I’ll be here. Circling or not circling. Don’t think I left for good. I’m not going to. Call me pathetic, but I’m very excited to show you my cacti.”
Call me pathetic, but I wish he’d show me his cacti too. I mean again. I mean, no, that’s just wrong. I want to actually get to know Daniel, not just fall back into bed with him again. Although, I have no complaints about the other night. If it happened again, I would be up for it. Just saying. But that’s not my primary focus. It’s seriously not. I really do want to see Daniel’s plants. Not a metaphor for his package.
“Okay. See you in ten. Thanks for being patient.” After that absurd thank you, I hang up and race to the bathroom, hobbling because my leg is still aching. I rip off my dusty clothes, dive under the shower, come out soaking wet, dribbling water all over as I haphazardly wrap a towel around myself, and amble straight for my room.
I’m normally someone who loves to pick out the perfect outfit, pair it with a stunning set of shoes, add some jewelry, and compliment with makeup. I don’t like to go anywhere not looking put together. I hate feeling sloppy and going out of the house not looking my best is a hard no for me.
Except for right now. because I don’t have time for hard no’s, and if Daniel really wants this date, then he’s going to get it sans perfection, and he can take me or leave me. Like if he does not want me when I’m a potato, well he does not deserve me when I’m a chip. You know there’s that saying.
But the thought of him leaving me because I won’t be wearing much makeup, or a carefully crafted outfit really smarts.
I guess I’ve had a few too many heartbreaks lately.
Not I guess. I have. And it sucks always being the one left behind.
Before my heart or brain or whatever is in charge of hormones and feels can Charlie horse and dredge up a shit ton of feelings about inadequacy and loneliness, I slide into a black dress. Simple, but elegant. Not fancy, because it’s not silky or shimmery, and more playful because it has a full pleated skirt and a lacey back that peeks open. It’s one of my favorites and I think it works for anything. I don’t care if I end up being overdressed to go to a greenhouse. We might also be going somewhere else, and I don’t want to be underdressed and embarrassed. I own a boutique for goodness sakes. These things are complicated for me.
I snatch my favorite necklace from Luna’s collection, a gold number that looks like a Y on, with tiny little amber stones trailing down the front, and clasp it around my neck. I pair it with black pumps that are only three inches high, because sometimes moderation is good and I don’t want to make my leg cramp up again. Even if Daniel wasn’t a veritable beast of a man, a giant that I could never top, I still wouldn’t be worried about my heels. I’m unapologetic about my height and I love heels.
I dash to the bathroom, grabbing up my purse and slinging it over my shoulder. I add a pop of lip tint and after giving myself a once over in the mirror. My hair is slightly dampened in spots from where the water hit it even though I was trying to be careful to keep it dry, so now it’s wild and frizzy and curling down my back, not in an attractive kind of way either. My face is slightly flushed and blotchy from the whole Charlie horse incident and I feel just a tad nauseated at nothing at all. I guess that’s nerves.
Well, nerves or no nerves, I’m going to go meet Daniel. Hopefully he hasn’t been towed away yet.
He hasn’t. He’s there, in his black sedan, by the curb, definitely in the no parking lane. When he sees me walking up, he slides out of the car, unfolding his massive body in a graceful move that leaves my mouth dry. He’s wearing jeans- not designer either, but something more plain and worn in, a black t-shirt, and a black suit jacket, like he thought to throw it on at the last second to be more formal. He probably plans on shedding it in the next two and a half seconds because it’s massively hot out and humid as farge, but it’s still nice he made the effort. My mouth goes dry for a second time. My panties… Well. I swear it’s wet because I didn’t use the towel properly when I hopped out of the shower all frantically. I’m going with that because it just feels wrong that the mere sight of someone like Daniel can have such a mind-numbing, panty-wetting effect on me.
