Page 59 of Make Me Dream of You

He leaves, and we wait.

Spencer knocks promptly at seven-fifteen.

“What did you do to your hair?” is the first thing he asks when Macy opens the door.

“Tried something different,” Macy says, her smile faltering.

“Hm.”

By all accounts, Spencer is handsome, but I can’t for the life of me pinpoint why. He has very nondescript brown hair. His face is face-shaped. Straight nose. Brown eyes. Maybe it’s that his face is very symmetrical? He’s wearing navy dress pants and a white button-up shirt with a subtle blue stripe.

He clears his throat as he straightens his shirt cuffs. “Come on. I don’t want to be late for our reservation.”

It’s late. Almost midnight. Bex has been at the bar working since nine, Wood is still out on his date, and I haven’t heard Noah come home yet, either.

I’m in bed. Correction, I’m in Noah’s bed. It doesn’t smell like him anymore.

I haven’t heard back from 2Horned all day. That’s unlike him. He always responds, even if it’s just to tell me he can’t talk because he’s busy or working or something. He never leaves me on read.

I check the app again. Still no response. Just my last one telling him I didn’t want to meet.

I probably hurt his feelings. Maybe he’s mad. Maybe he feels rejected.

This sucks.

I knew this relationship, or whatever it is, between us would be ending. Soon, even. But not like this. Not with hurt feelings.

ANG3L:

Hey you. Are you around?

Half an hour later and still no reply from him.

When we’d realized today we both live in Seattle, I was shocked. What a fucking coincidence, right?

Bex doesn’t believe in coincidences. She thinks everything is connected and mapped out in the stars.

Do I believe we’re ruled by the planets and stuff? No. Not really. But I have to admit it feels like more than a coincidence. Like something I shouldn’t ignore.

I almost said yes.

But then I started to second guess. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? I mean, I know I’m pretty—even though I sometimes forget I’m not that ugly duckling I used to be. But what if I’m not his type? What if I’m not what he’s expecting?

He’s expecting a confident, sexy woman. A woman who has done the activities we’ve talked about. What if I’m disappointing in real life? What if I’m not charming or funny without the security of the screen between us?

What if he finds out I’m a virgin? A fraud? What if he thinks I’m a liar?

I’m too in my head about this. I know I am.

I throw my head back into my pillow, exhaling hard, letting my phone drop and land with a plop onto my chest. He’s my friend. He’s told me about his family—something he says he never talks about with anyone—and I’ve told him things I haven’t told anyone else, too. I told him about being terrified of ET, for god’s sake! I need to fix this.

I want to make it up to him.

He did ask for a picture…

No.

Maybe.

---