Page 162 of Undressed In The Crease

“Shit, I told you not to move.” Layla rushes to get a tissue as Bridget laughs at us. “Here hold this under your eye. Don’t tear up.”

Easy for her to say she didn’t have a pencil poke her eyeball.

“If a tear comes out, it’ll ruin your makeup and we won’t have time to fix it.” She warns me, and I do my best to stop my watery eye from smearing any makeup.

It’s been one thing after another. I fell up the steps on my way in, scraping my knee. The zipper on the dress Bridget picked out tore right after I got it on. Layla came late, because she had to get ready herself to meet up with Greg right after. Since she was rushing, while trying to curl my hair she burnt my ear. Now this.

“This is a bad omen,” I tell them after I stop the stinging in my eye.

“It’ll make for a great story to tell your kids one day.” Layla sighs dreamily.

Bridget and I share the same look of disgust.

“Oh god, don’t say that. You're moving a little too fast there.” I just need to get through tonight. I don’t know what the future will be like, and I’m too young to be thinking of kids.

All these issues have been a good distraction, but the closer it gets to seven-thirty, the tighter the knot gets in my stomach.

“Greg and I already decided we’ll have four or five kids, at least two girls and two boys.” Bridget and I stare at Layla like she has four or five heads. “What? I mean after we graduate of course.”

Layla is head over heels and completely in love with Greg. They haven’t even hit the three-month mark. That to me is a big mark. That’s usually when I figure out if I’m in love with the guy I’m seeing or if we’re better as just friends.

“There! Makeup is done, hair done, dress is on. You are good to go.” Layla stands me up and twirls me to the mirror in the corner of my room.

It’s not my first pick, but the floral romper flares out like a short dress, showing off my long legs. It singes at my waist, giving the illusion of curves that I don’t have. The long sleeves are light, but Layla gives me her light pink pleather jacket that matches after saying my jacket isn’t nice enough. Bridget fixes the loose waves of my hair and Layla touches up my lip gloss just as I hear a car door slam.

“Perfect, he's here!” Layla jumps.

“He’s two minutes late,” Bridget mutters as she heads down the stairs.

“Wait, is he coming to the door? This is awkward.” My face reddens as I think about him picking me up like a real date would.

Why is this so embarrassing?

“Uh, he better.” Layla says, like duh that’s how dates work.

I’m the only one who thinks this is all super embarrassing.

I walk down quickly trying to get to the door before he does. This whole going to the door picking up your date thing is straight out of a movie and I’ve always been uncomfortable with any kind of PDA.

Bridget gets to the door first and Layla holds me back at the last step.

“Breathe,” She whispers over her shoulder.

I do. I need to calm myself down before I pass out. I feel the bubble in my stomach rising to my throat as the door slowly opens. I didn’t even hear him knock over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. Nor do I hear him talking to Bridget, but I see their mouths moving as she opens the door even more to let him in.

I swallow the bubble back down to my stomach before it comes out.

At some point, Layla had moved away to the kitchen, but I’m still frozen in place.

Nick Miller in sweats is hot.

Nick Miller in tight jeans and a gray button up to match his eyes is fire.

His usual unkempt hair is neatly brushed. His dark jeans are hugging his thick legs tight, and his black leather jacket over his gray shirt tugs at his biceps.

A wide grin forms on his lips as he looks me over.

I feel a nudge at my side pulling me back to reality.

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