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“Right,” I confirm with a half-assed nod. “You’re totally right.”
However, as I turn to look at my reflection in the mirror, I cringe because my face and hair are one hot mess.
“Yeah, you’ll definitely need to redo your hair and makeup.”
Turning over my shoulder, I chuckle. “You said it doesn’t matter what I wear.”
“Yeah I know, but you don’t want to totally scare him off. I mean, he might be useful to have around,” she explains.
I raise my eyebrow, confused.
“He might have cute friends,” she says with a wink.
After washing, straightening, and curling my hair, I’ve thrown it up into a messy bun as that’s the only thing I’m semi-happy with. My makeup is minimal, and the only thing that’s “flashy” is my favorite vanilla lip gloss, which plumps up my lips. Mary was right. This most certainly is not a date. I mean, I’m going out with David, for Christ’s sake. But it troubles me that I occasionally need to remind myself of that fact.
When the doorbell chimes right at seven o’clock, butterflies suddenly take flight in my belly, but I tell them to cool it because this isnota date. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans and taking a deep breath, I open the door and am greeted by thehottestman on earth.
The first breath I took was in vain, as it hasn’t helped calm my nerves whatsoever, so I take another before I pass out from lack of oxygen to the brain.
“Madison,” Dixon says in a deep, husky voice that has me loving my own name.
“H-Hi,” I stutter, shyly brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Please come in,” I add, opening the door wider and stepping out of the way.
Dixon nods, his lips tipping up into a mischievous, dimpled smile as he takes his first step into my home. I can’t help but note how much younger he looks in casual clothing. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a tight black Yankees T-shirt, and even though he looks informal, he still looks damn hot.
When I quickly shut the door behind me, he turns to look at me over his shoulder and smirks as he points at my framedFrom Dusk till Dawnmovie poster. “I love Quentin Tarantino.”
“You do?” I ask. He failed to mention that during our texting marathon.
“Oh yeah. I like anything that screws with the mind.” He taps his temple.
Of course he does.
“Well good ’cause now I don’t feel like a total nerd,” I say with a faux sigh.
“Your secret is safe with me,” he replies in a conspiratorial tone, and I laugh at his flippant attitude.
“So did you want your dessert now or after?” I ask, still standing with my back against the door. I’m too nervous to move as his gorgeous looks render me useless.
He turns full circle and crosses his arms over his broad chest, a hint of a smile pulling at his supple lips.
“How about we get some studying done first, and then I can pass out into a sugar-induced coma?”
“Good idea.” I smirk and push off the door. “I don’t really have a desk,” I shyly confess and look at where my coffee table was once visible. It’s now strewn with books, papers, highlighters, and the occasional candy wrapper.
“That’s okay. This is like your little study den. I like it. You should have seen my room when I was studying. I lost two cats in there,” he teases.
“Well, now I feel better ’cause at least I know where my cat is.”
Dixon laughs, and I realize this is the most casual I’ve ever seen him. His relaxed attitude calms me down somewhat.
“So shall we?” he suggests, pointing at my sofa.
“Yeah—yes, of course,” I counter, mentally giving myself a well-needed slap.
I round the sofa while he does the same, and we both take a seat on opposite ends, our bodies pressed up against the armrests. There’s a huge gap between us, seeing as my sofa seats five comfortably.
Wow, this isn’t at all awkward. But it’s the reality check I needed, as I’ve probably made Dixon uncomfortable with my excessive staring. With that thought in mind, I kick off my sneakers and reach for my textbook.
