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“Most of the time, I just wake up and brush it a bit.”
Of course he does. Everything comes naturally to Lucas. He’s never had to try. I bet that with his (as much as I hate admitting it) conventionally attractive face and tall, lean body, he could show up to a bar wearing a garbage bag and still have women fawning over him.
After another minute, Lucas pulls his hands away. Immediately, I miss the feeling of his fingertips rubbing against my head, but I’m distracted by how my hair looks. He’s pushed my bangs back and to the side, and I look…suave. Like a budget James Bond. Nerdy university student by day, ruthless spy by night.
“There,” he says. “You look good.”
My eyes flick to meet his in the mirror. “You really think so?”
“Yeah.”
Some of my nervousness about the date ebbs away. I feel good. I look good. Everything will be fine.
I check my phone — 5:45. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” I rush out of the bathroom and hurry to the front door.
Lucas follows me, watching as I pull on my shoes.
“Wish me luck,” I say as I’m leaving, and the door slams shut behind me before I can hear his response.
*
After getting off the tram, I run through the busy city streets until I arrive at Melbourne Central, a large shopping centre in the middle of the city. I go inside and make it under the golden clock at 5:59.
Cleo’s not here. I pull out my phone.
Charlie: Hey, I’m here :)
Five minutes tick by without a response. I try not to wonder whether I’ve been stood up. That only happens in movies, right?
My phone buzzes.
Cleo: Gonna be twenty minutes late, sorry!
While I wait, I people watch and breathe deeply in an attempt to keep calm. This is my first time doing anything remotely romantic. I haven’t even held a girl’s hand before. I know a lot of my classmates dated in high school — Lucas alone had about a hundred girlfriends. But I never did.
To be fair, I looked like crap in high school. I was short and skinny, and my cheeks were covered with bright red acne. I had terrible posture, like I was trying to fold myself into something as small as possible so no one would look at me. All I needed was a pair of glasses stuck together with tape and I’d look like the stereotypical dork from an American teen movie.
The closest I got to getting horizontal with another person was when I was 15, when Lucas threw me onto the carpet in my parent’s living room to taunt me. He held me down with his hands on my wrists, his knees digging into my thighs, his weight crushing me. I was so scared, I could’ve pissed my pants. So obviously, that doesn’t count.
When I started university earlier this year, I decided it was time for me to get some experience. I made my dating app profile about a month ago, then asked Jemima to check it and give me her opinion.
“Well, there’s no photos of you holding a fish or of a random car. So, I approve,” she’d said. When I asked if the answers to the prompts were okay, she said, “Yeah, you don’t sound psychotic or misogynistic. Good job.”
Next was the swiping. At first, the profiles overwhelmed me — every girl was gorgeous, and many of them featured photos of them drinking cocktails, or wearing evening dresses, or travelling Europe. They seemed to lead such glamorous lives, and every one of them was way out of my league.
I got a few matches those first few weeks. Half of the profiles were girls advertising their OnlyFans accounts. The other half would stop responding after a couple of messages.
Then, a week ago, I matched with Cleo. I messaged her first, just a simple hello :) not expecting her to respond at all. In fact, I was surprised we matched in the first place. But, to my surprise, she replied with Nice bookcase, which had been in the background of one of my photos.
Haha thanks, I’d replied. Do you like to read?
From there, we started talking every day for a week. I quickly learned that Cleo was a student at my university. I told her I studied psychology. We were both in our first year. We both liked bubble tea, dogs (even though neither of us had any pets) and the beach.
Then, yesterday, she messaged me: So are you going to ask me out or what?
I’d stared at my screen. Should I have asked her out already? I didn’t want to seem too eager. Nonetheless, I replied.
Charlie: Would you like to go out for dinner sometime?
