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“Yeah. A date.”
Isabelle smiled up at me, her mascara streaked face perfect to me. She started to giggle. “I’m going on a date with a professional footballer.”
Lame as it is for an eighteen-year-old guy to feel all mushy, Isabelle’s laugh had the ability to shed me of any coolness I possessed.
“I thought you didn’t care about that,” I teased.
“I don’t. But it’s still funny.”
The desire to kiss her was getting stronger, but I still wasn’t sure she was ready for it. Instead, I tightened my arms around her, and kissed the top of her head.
“We should get some sleep,” I said. “It’s getting late.”
“Yeah. I suppose we should.”
She sounded reluctant. I felt the same. I didn’t want to let her go. Even though nothing had happened beyond us admitting we were into each other, it had felt like I’d waited so long to get close to her, I wanted to hold onto her a litt
le longer.
“Can we stay here for a few more minutes?” Isabelle asked, burying her head into my shoulder.
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s do that.”
Chapter Six – Everyone Is Good At Something
Isabelle
“Georgia, wake up!”
My sister let out a small, muffled whimper and covered her head with her arm.
“Georgie!” I said, poking her shoulder, “Wake up, I need to talk to you!”
“Leave me alone,” she mumbled, her blonde hair flicking across her face as she wriggled to get away from me.
“Fine,” I said. “I won’t tell you your makeover worked and Jesse asked me out.”
A moment passed, then Georgia’s eyes sprung open and she sat bolt upright. “What?”
I leaned over and switched on her bedside lamp, causing her to blink a few times at the brightness.
“What did you say?” she asked.
A grin spread across my face. “Jesse. He said … well he said lots of things, but most importantly, he asked if I want to go for a coffee with him tomorrow.”
Georgia’s face lit up, and she threw her arms around me. “This is so amazing!”
“I know!”
“Wait, you need to tell me everything! How did this happen? What did he say?”
Georgia shuffled over on her bed so I could sit down more comfortably – or as comfortably as possible in my tight dress which, suddenly, had become my favourite piece of clothing ever.
“Well,” I began, “Jesse was in the kitchen and I went to say goodnight and he … he asked if I was okay.”
“Ooh, romantic,” Georgia said, with mock sarcasm.
“Shut up! Anyway, he said he thought I seemed a bit … uncomfortable tonight. And he said I don’t need to wear dresses like this to make me look good.”
