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Mr. Stupid: How’s the research going?
Terrible,I reply. I’m pretty sure he’s not ready for me to tell him I’d like to peg him on our first date. And aside from the student-teacher video I watched yesterday, I haven’t found anything I’d feel comfortable doing with him tonight.
If you want to cancel, I understand.
Do you want to cancel?
No.
Then, I’ll see you tonight.
I’m standing in my closet, my lunch threatening to come back up as I stare down at his last message. I’ve never been so nervous in my life.
There’s a part of me that’s tempted to cancel the whole thing and just return to the safety of my normal, boring life. But once I close this door, I’m never opening it again.
Then there’s a part of me, a voice growing stronger every day that feels almost as if it’s bullying me into this. A fiercer, more confident version of myself I’ve learned to suffocate and ignore in order to play the role, get the job, not anger anyone or create any conflict. She’s clawing her way out of my psyche, and I’m too intrigued by what this new feeling promises that I can’t quiet her now.
Pocketing my phone, I find the sleek black dress hidden at the back of my closet. It’s one of those items I bought for an occasion that never existed. It’s low-cut, tight around my waist, and short enough that if I drop anything on the floor tonight, it’s going to have to stay there because there will benobending over—well, not for that reason at least.
No.No.I am not sleeping with the mystery man tonight. I know he probably thinks he’s about to get laid, but I need to take things slow. It’s just a meeting to see if this is something we want to pursue or not.
I grab the dress, a pair of black stilettos, and pack a quick bag for the masquerade event before rushing out the door to get to Emerson and Charlie’s engagement party.
Parking down the street, I walk up to Emerson’s immaculate two-story home in my modest flats, knee-length skirt, and polka-dot blouse. It’s a far cry from the black mini and stilettos currently waiting their turn in the trunk of my car.
“I look like a virgin,” I mutter to myself as I walk up the long driveway toward the courtyard before the front door.
“Are you?” a dark voice says from the corner behind me. A scream bursts from my chest as I jump what feels like three feet into the air.
Spinning around with my hand clamped to my chest, I stare in shock at an amused-looking Beau. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“And standing in the corner of the courtyard, answering questions I mumble to myself, isn’t supposed to be scary?”
He laughs again. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Well, you should try,” I respond, sounding more disgruntled than I am. “What are you doing out here anyway?”
He shrugs. “Just not ready to go in.”
I turn to face the door, hearing the music and voices of the party on the other side. And sympathy drowns out my annoyance. This can’t be an easy situation for him. Surely, everyone will be looking his way tonight, watching for his reaction, waiting to see him blow up or act out.
I’m a little surprised he’s even here, to be honest. I don’t know if I could do it if I were him. But Emerson either coerced him into coming or he’s just trying to be supportive for his dad’s sake. Either way, I feel bad leaving him out here alone.
“To be honest, I hate parties,” I say, pausing in the courtyard, only a few feet from him. “I obviously never know how to dress.” I gesture down at my outfit.
His crooked smirk sends a flood of butterflies to my belly. How dare he be so charming when he’s clearly supposed to be a self-centered prick?
“You do look like a virgin,” he replies, and the butterflies dissipate just like that.
“Wow, thanks.”
“Well, you are walking into a party full of sex club owners.”
“I’mone of those owners, remember?” I reply, furrowing my brow at him.
“Yeah, and I’m only messing with you.”
