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I stare at my phone, wondering if I should text him. He didn’t like me Ubering home, but I’m not ready for him to see where I live.
Should I send him a message? He asked me to, but then again, will I come off as desperate? He’s so confident and full of himself, and I’m anything but. I’m weighing the pros and cons when an unknown number shows up.
Unknown:Did you make it home okay? You never texted. BTW, this is Noah.
My heart leaps in my chest and I can’t stop the grin from forming.
Me:I’m home. Was feeling a little weird about texting.
While I’m adding his number and name into my contact list, another text comes through.
Noah:Afraid you’d come across clingy?
Me:Yeah, a little.
Dots appear and then disappear, and I wonder if I messed something up. The text comes through a minute later, and I read it eagerly. My stupid smile doesn’t disappear.
Noah:Let’s get something straight, Ash. I do what I want to do, andyou aresomeone I want to do.
I blush at his text, and love him shortening my name to Ash.
Me:Thanks. And maybe—no, most likely definitely—I’ll let you do me one day.
His text is quick.
Noah:Abso-fucking-lutely.
Another comes before I can reply.
Noah:Have a good night’s sleep. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, around five?
Noah comes from money, and he does well for himself. I’m not ready for him to see where I live. It could be worse, but it could be better.
Me:Yes, we’re still on, but can I text you tomorrow, time and place? I have several errands to run.
It’s not entirely a lie.
The bubbles appear, then disappear, and then reappear.
Noah:Sure, that’s fine, as long as you realize one date with you isn’t enough.
The blush creeps up my face again. Yeah, he’s doing something to me.
* * *
I pullout my phone to text Kate with an update. She called me in the middle of my date to let me know she had a buyer for the piece I dropped off, and the minimum price she’d take. But she’s a born negotiator, and was hoping for more.
I’m surprised to see there’s another text from her already, considering she called me just over an hour ago.
Kate:Your cut after my commission fee is a thousand dollars.
A thousand dollars?A thousand dollars, I repeat in my head. No way. It’s got to be a typo. I begin to reply to the message.
Me:Am I reading this right? One thousand dollars?
The dots appear right away, and my body is buzzing. I have never made that much, and if I were to have sold it on my own, I would have asked for a hundred. But Kate—she sees my value.
Kate:Yes, a thousand. It was sold for $1500.
