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I want to punch the air, but I won’t because I’m being cool and all that. “Have a good day.”
I open the car door, and he pulls me back for another kiss. I laugh against his lips. “I have to go.”
“Maybe I have to come.”
“You’re a sex maniac.” I laugh. With another quick kiss I jump out of the car, and he gives me a slow sexy smile. “Bye.” I float inside. I’m on cloud nine.
I change my sheets and bundle up the old ones at double speed.
In among the walking-on-air thing, I’ve been on cleaning crack today.
I’ve tidied. I’ve washed. I’ve bought fresh flowers. I’ve vacuumed and mopped. I cleaned the bathroom. I bought new underwear and even got a few groceries, just in case things go really well tonight and we don’t make it out to dinner.
With my hands on my hips, I look over my apartment to try and see it with new eyes. The living room rug looks a little tired. Hmm. I mean, I have had it for a few years. Maybe I should take it down to the garage?
I really want to put my best foot forward with Henley tonight.
I slide my coffee table over and roll up the huge rug. I try to pick it up and strain. Oh hell, this thing is heavy.
I drag it to the door and struggle out into the hall, dragging it as I go. I turn toward the elevator, then remember that it’s closed for maintenance today.
Fuck.
Six flights of stairs it is.
I drag it along, sweating, huffing, and puffing. It takes me ten minutes to get down only two levels.
Hell, this date will have to be another sleepover, simply because I’m going to be so exhausted that I’ll fall asleep before dinner.
I get halfway down and have to sit for a few minutes and rest. I take out my phone and check it.
No missed calls.
I finally get to the bottom of the stairs and drag my rug into my garage.
Right . . . now to make myself simply irresistible.
I pick up my phone and check it for the thousandth time today. I’m sitting on my couch, primped, primed, with nowhere to go.
It’s 7:00 p.m., and Henley hasn’t called me yet.
Where the hell is he?
I have this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if something’s wrong?
Stop it.
He’s going to call; I know he is.
So why hasn’t he already? It’s 7:00 p.m. He would have called by now if he was going to.
I flick through Netflix in search of a distraction.
Maybe he’s lost my number?
I sit up, suddenly interested in that theory. Yes, that must be it. If he did lose my number, then he has no way of contacting me.
Maybe I should call him?
