Page 12 of Can't Always Get What You Want

I’ve got some time to figure out what the hell a guy wears to a non-date that he secretly hopes turns into more.

I want Nova to like me.

No—scratch that. I want her to want me andmydick.

I walk into my closet and stand in the center of it, eyeballing my dress shirts. Rainforest Café or not, I am going to make an effort, and I reach for the blue polo shirt with cream-colored buttons. It’s soft, pulls taut across my shoulders, and shows off my biceps.

I flex in the mirror.

“Hey,” I say to my reflection. “I totally just threw this on—What?You thinkmy arms are nice. You’re welcome.”

Grabbing my best pair of dark jeans, the ones that sit just right on my hips, I shimmy into them and debate what shoes to wear. Boots? Sneakers?

Loafers?

Yeah, loafers.

One last glance in the mirror and I’m thinking,if Nova doesn’t at leastconsiderclimbing me like a tree by the end of the night, I’ll be personally offended.

I twist my wrist to check the time: 6:32

It takes less than three minutes for me to fuck with my hair, decide I detest it, fix it again, then question if it was better the first time.

“Shit,” I groan, raking my fingers through it one last time before forcing myself to step away.

6:35

Jesus.What the hell am I going to do with all this extra time?

Dousing myself with the cologne I bought on a trip to France, I pace my living room, glancing at the clock every thirty seconds like that’s gonna speed things up.

Flop down on the couch and flip through new movies, staring absentmindedly at the screen, not really seeing anything. I could start one, but let’s be real—I’d be sitting here checking the time every five minutes, counting down like a kid on Christmas Eve.

6:42

I toss the remote onto the coffee table.

Maybe I should just leave now.Show up early, act like it was an accident. Oh, you said eight? Thought you meant seven fifteen. My bad.

My knee bounces nervously, and I tap my fingers against my thigh, sit up again, restless energy buzzing under my skin.

“Chill, dude.”

But all I can think about is Nova—what she’s going to smell like, how she’s going to feel pressed up against my body if she goes in for a hug, and if she’s been thinking about tonight even half as much as I have.

6:45

“Screw it.” I grab my keys and stand. If I stay here any longer, I’m going to lose my damn mind.

Besides, it’s going to take at least a half hour to get downtown, which puts me at the restaurant early but not embarrassingly so.

Fine. It’s too early, but since when is being early a bad thing?

The last time I saw Nova was six months ago, at the Baddies Holiday party, and I hate to tell you…she mostly ignored me. Not in a rude way. More like I wasn’t on her radar?

She smiled at me—once—but who was counting?

Meanwhile, I spent the whole night tracking her movements like a fucking idiot, like a lovesick puppy. Watching the way she tilted her head when she laughed, the way her eyes lit up when she talked with my teammates…none of whom have an actual chance with her.

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