Page 7 of The Keeper
I can’t help but smile too.
“Plus, tonight is technically over in about two hours. And I want more time than that. So I’m thinking tomorrow instead.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. You have plans?”
“Just in the morning. But I’ll be free after twelve.”
“So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow at one.”
“I never said yes,” I respond, still grinning.
“But you didn’t say no either.”
“Well, there’s that.”
We’re both quiet for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the city, enjoying the cool fall breeze rushing across us, such a contrast to the typical LA heat.
“So, what do I have to do to get you to agree to let me take you out tomorrow?” he finally says, and I see in my peripheral vision that he’s turned to look at me.
I wait, mulling over what I should say, and then ultimately decide on the response I usually give, which borders between honesty and ‘lets see how interested you really are.’
I turn my head and boldly look him dead in the eyes.
“To be completely honest, I am incredibly awkward on dates. So… I’ll agree if it’s a casual day. I’m like a kid, you know? I like it simple. I don’t really glamazon. That’s not my thing.”
“You don’t glamazon?” He raises one eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”
I shrug.
“You know. Fake eyelashes and huge boobs and hooker heels.”
“Oh, so all of the women inside?”
“Pretty much,” I respond with a half laugh, then gesture to myself. “What you see is what you get.”
He steps towards me and I feel my heart rate pick up. With complete sincerity, he reaches out and adjusts my glasses, pushing them up my nose a little.
“Well, I can tell you with absolutely certainty that I like what I see,” he says softly.
I fight the cheesy grin that wants to bloom on my face and instead just offer him a small smile. Although I am certain my flushed cheeks give away the pleasure I felt at his words.
“So you said one-o-clock?” He nods and breaks out into that breathtaking smile again. My butterflies are going crazy. “One sounds great.”
Chapter Two
Mack asks for my number and ends up leaving the party within ten minutes, and then I spend a while lying back on the balcony lounger with a stupid smile. I feel like I’m a 15-year-old going on her first date.
Ridiculous.
I’m not trying to pretend that at 21, I’m some old bird. I’m still very young and have a whole lot of life ahead of me. But there is a huge difference between how 15- and 21-year-olds feel about dating and relationships. When I was 15 and going on my first few dates with Carter Lincoln, it felt like electricity was shooting through my veins any time we would look at each other. Just a single glance from him across the quad could make my traitorous body break out into a deep flush from the middle of my chest, up my neck, onto my cheeks.
Over the years, some of that newness has fallen away. I’ve dated here and there, but I don’t get that squirmy feeling of nervousness anymore. Did I seriously think I felt butterflies when Mack asked me out earlier? Because that’s how just those few moments of interaction with Mack made me feel. Like it was all new again.
When I finally decide it’s time to stop daydreaming, I wander inside to find Jeremy or Charlie. With no luck, I drive home and crawl into bed at a reasonable hour. But that still doesn’t stop me from groaning when my alarm goes off at six the next morning.
Time for practice.
