Page 86 of Friendshipped
Oh yes, I do.
Go ahead, share in my mortification. There’s plenty to go around.
Something about my stunned silence must convey,I’m a mysterious, sultry woman, instead ofI’m a complete dufus who can’t find words in front of an exquisite man, because the next words out of his mouth are, “There’s a pool at my apartment complex. I thought you could come over for a swim.”
“Uh. Yeah. That would be great,” I say, giving him a shy smile and backing out of the room before I say or do anything disastrous and humiliating.
I’m staring at my computer screen trying to focus now. All I can think is:A date. A date with Chase. Swimming. In my swimsuit. Gah! Him in his swimsuit. Wow. And, hello. A DATE WITH CHASE!
Trevor pops his head in. “Hey. It’s awfully quiet over here.”
“Chase asked me to go swimming,” I blurt.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you say yes?”
“I think so,” I say.
“You aren’t sure?”
Trevor’s mouth shifts up in that adorable way he has where one corner tilts and the other stays level. It shows off his dimple. Chase might make me swoon, but he’s got nothing on Trevor—unfortunately. Maybe in time he could.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think I said yes. I tried not to say too much. I was afraid I’d botch things and he’d see the real me and run for the hills faster than a man being chased by a hive of bees.”
Trevor shakes his head. “If he saw the real you, he’d be hoping you gave him the time of day. When are you going to realize you’re a catch?”
“Thanks.”
Trevor stares at me like he’s trying to send me a message, but I can’t decipher it. Jeanette’s voice travels down from the door leading to our cubicles.
Trevor tilts his head toward his desk.
“I’d better go look busy.”
* * *
Trevorand I are on our drive home from work Thursday, and I’m totally fishing for clues as to the plan for my birthday which is a week from Saturday. Chase firmed up our plans for this weekend before we left work today. I’m going to meet him at his apartment mid-afternoon Saturday for a swim.
All week, Trevor has been acting weird. I know something’s up because my birthday’s next weekend and he’s probably involved in some secret plan for a shindig that I’m not supposed to know about.
Laura told me she was gathering a bunch of people at Pop’s Pizza for a party next Sunday. We didn’t even do something that lame when one of us had a birthday in high school, let alone celebrating me nearing a quarter-century.
I’ll be twenty-three and I’m as single as the day I was born, only with a rent payment and a job writing obituaries and community pieces that are forgotten before they’re even read.
And I rejoined the dating app.
I didn’t want to, but Laura gave me such a sales pitch, and she promised to help me screen potential dates. I think she’ll be able to sense when someone certifiable shows interest. I’m counting on her sixth sense with men to help me weed through candidates and pick a good one.
So, it’s happy birthday, Lexi! You no longer have to risk dating frisky Oompa Loompas or men with psychotic ex-girlfriends. I think I have PDDSD: Post-Disastrous-Dating-Stress-Disorder. But then there’s my date with Chase locked in for my weekend plans.
Yes. Things are looking up. Happy Birthday to me.
“So,” I ask Trevor. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing much,” he says.
