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Because this first date isn’t going to lead to anything.
And yet I want to look good.
Why? It’s not because Noah Wilson looks like a fucking bearded Norse god or anything. Nope, that’s no way at all.
I take out the curlers, finger-brush my hair, then spray it with hairspray. I can use hairspray, right? It’s not toxic to the baby or anything? I put away my hair and makeup supplies then go into my bedroom to Google hairspray and pregnancy. I’m ready to go, and Noah isn’t supposed to be here for fifteen more minutes.
I’m surprised when the doorbell rings five minutes later. The dogs run, barking again, and I close the computer (yes, hairspray is fine) and grab my shoes.
“Lauren,” Noah says, deep voice rumbling as he says my name. Dammit knees. Why are you getting weak? “You look … beautiful.”
“You sound surprised,” I say and give him a quick up and down with my eyes.
“Not surprised,” he says. “But I rarely see you like this.”
“You rarely see me at all,” I say with a smile. “And thanks. You look good too.” He does. In dark jeans and a light-gray button-up shirt, he looks effortlessly put together. His dark hair is styled in a way that makes it look like he woke up like that, which is as sexy as it is unfair.
Nobody wants to see me when I just woke up. I look like a creature from the black lagoon, not a model from a Calvin Klein shoot. Damn him.
“Should we get going?” I ask, turning to grab my purse and my coat. “You made reservations, right?”
“Yeah. You only reminded me to a dozen times.”
“Sorry,” I say with a shrug. “It just doesn’t make sense not to, ya know?”
“I guess.” He extends his hand for me to take.
“Where are we going?”
“Zazzios.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised.”
“That’s a pretty fancy place.” Fancy, and expensive. It opened last year and got very popular after some reality TV star was seen dining there with her boyfriend.
“I don’t do first dates often,” he starts and holds out his hand for me to take. “But when I do, I do them right.”
I just smile, not sure how I should feel that my perspective on things has already changed. I love getting dressed up and going somewhere fancy—it doesn’t happen that often—and this is an ideal first date. But it feels … weird.
This date isn’t going to end with sexy time and the hope for a second date. I already know Noah and I will be getting together again for pretty much the rest of our lives. The nature of those meetings is still to be determined, but it takes the fun out of this dating thing.
Noah pays for valet parking, takes my coat, and pulls out my chair when we get to the table. He’s playing the part of the perfect gentleman perfectly, and I worry that’s all he’s doing.
Playing.
Not taking this seriously. I look across the table at him, and find it hard not to feel like I’m back in high school, longingly staring across the hall at my brother’s best friend, wishing he would take notice in me … and then realizing that if Noah and I ever did hook up, I don’t know who would murder me first: my parents or Colin.
I don’t know much about Noah, and that needs to change. He might not be the trouble-making bad boy he used to be. Fuck, I hope not. If he is, there is no way this can work between us.
“Would you like to start the evening off with a glass of wine?” the waiter asks as he hands us our menus.
Noah orders two glasses, then realizes what he did right after the waiter walks away. “Fuck, I forgot.”
“It’s okay. You can have it.” I look over the menu. There aren’t even prices listed out. Wow.
The waiter brings us the wine, along with bread and salad. My mouth waters at the sight of lettuce and tomatoes. At least I have healthy cravings, right?
