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I was well and truly buzzed by the time I got home. After a shower, during which I washed my hair and did a full body scrub and moisturize, I glanced at the clock. Still almost three hours to go. When did time start going so maddeningly slow?
I paused in front of my closet, wondering what I should wear on a date when I had no idea what we were actually doing.
Me: I need some information.
Mack: Good afternoon, Chastity. Information regarding what, exactly?
I laughed, while also wanting to slap him.
Me: The date, Milton. I need information regarding the date.
Mack: Such as?
He was taking far too much pleasure in this. I could imagine the angelic and infuriating look on his face all too well.
Me: Are we going to be indoors or outdoors? Sitting, or moving around. How am I supposed to get dressed if I don’t know these things?
Mack: Does that mean you’re naked right now? Are you naked texting?
I rolled my eyes heavenward.
Me: That's not a thing.
Mack: You could make it one.
Me: Not interested in being the founder of naked texting, but thank you for thinking of me.
Mack: I’m always thinking of you.
My heart tripped over itself. How the hell was I going to go back to just friends if he kept saying things like that?
Mack: And we’re going to be outdoors. But you might work up a sweat ;) Is that enough information?
Me: It’s pervy, but yes, it’s enough.
Mack: See you in a couple of hours x
I was smiling as I threw the phone onto my bed. This feeling warming my chest was not one date and then back to friends. This was more than that; much more, if I was being honest, and it scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I wasn’t used to being invested like this. But how could I be anything else with him?
My eyes found the clock on the wall, again, and I wondered if it were possible for the thing to be moving backwards.
After staring into my closet for so long my eyes started to blur, I settled on a pair of black jeans, a long sleeved shirt and a woolen jumper because outdoors in December in New York required layers. I stuffed my feet into my favorite boots and went to the kitchen to scrub down the counter in a last ditch effort to distract myself from the fact I was going on a date with my best friend.
At precisely 3:57,my buzzer went off. I knew it was precisely 3:57 because I was staring at the clock. And as soon as the sound filled my apartment, my heart took off at a gallop. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself that it was just Mack. The same guy I’d known since freshman year of high school. The same guy I’d seen yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. My body didn’t care. My body had gone well and truly rogue. One sentence was swirling around my head, making a mockery of all that ‘it’s just Mack’ business.
Because I’ll be kissing you at the end of it.
Those words had been taunting me. All. Day. Long.
And now, here we were. It was go-time.
I grabbed my coat and bag, took one last semi-calming breath and pulled the door shut behind me. I was going on a date with Mack. This was actually happening.
He was propped against a pole as I stepped out into the brisk fall wind, and god-damn he looked good. It still baffled me that I had been looking at him all these years and not actuallyseenhim. Granted, I had always known he was hot, it was one of those objective truths: waffles trump pancakes, whiskey is best served neat, Mack is hot. But that hotness had never set off the butterflies that were currently wrestling in my sternum. Never made my palms clammy with nerves. Never made me want to mark my territory. And here I was now, tempted to rub myself all over him like a cat. This did not bode well for my one-date-only stipulation.
My eyes drank him in; from the scuffed black Vans on his feet, the straight cut—but not too tight—blue jeans, past his well-loved coat with the hood of his sweatshirt poking out the top, to the navy blue beanie on his head that was low enough to cover his ears but not to tuck away all of those stubborn, dirty blond curls.
Holy hell I was in trouble.
