The Dating Proposal(43)
“Seriously, guy-friend,” I mimic.
“McKenna, you just sat there humming ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ as you worked.”
I pretend to be outraged. “I did not.”
He slices a hand through the air. “You did. Fess up. You’re falling for this guy in a major way.”
I huff, shrugging. “I like him. A lot. What’s so wrong with that?”
“Nothing is wrong with it. If it’s what you want. I’m just making sure you’re ready. You went into this dating project with a clear goal—to have fun again.”
“And it is fun,” I interrupt.
“Yes, dating is fun,” Andy says diplomatically as he pushes a shock of hair from his forehead. “Until feelings get involved.”
“It’s not fun then?”
“It can be. But it shifts. It becomes real.”
“Is that why you prefer hookups?”
He nods and gives a closed-mouth smile that strikes me as a little sad. “I’m no good at relationships. So I keep everything at a distance. But that’s my MO, and it has been for a while. You’re wired differently. You’re wired for relationships, and I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening with this guy. You’re falling into a relationship.”
I glance away as if I’ve been caught. “I don’t think that’s the case.”
“You truly don’t?”
I steel myself, meeting his gaze again. “That would make me foolish. I’m not foolish. I’m practical. Chris and I made a deal. Just fun-dating. No-strings-attached dating. That means we’re not going to fall into a relationship.”
“Fine. Just be careful. Watch your heart. I don’t want to see it get bruised again.”
I cover the organ in question. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this baby on lockdown.”
He barks a laugh, the kind that says he doesn't quite believe me. “Keep the key in a place only you can find. Okay?”
“I promise.”
A little later, I tell him I’m going to shower before my date.
Looking at his watch, he says, “It’s only five.”
“Well, sometimes a girl likes to take her time getting ready for her guy.”
He closes his laptop, smirking. “Her guy.” As he speaks, he sketches air quotes. “Good luck on your ‘fun date.’”
“It’ll be fun. It’s just a date. That’s all.”
But as he leaves, I’m not so sure that’s true any longer.
Or that I want it to be.
I spend more time than usual getting ready. I shave my legs and spread the softest strawberry lotion into my skin, thinking of how it would feel if Chris’s hands were the ones on my legs right now.
I tremble, picturing him kissing his way up my body. I blow out my hair, imagining his fingers twined through it.
I do my makeup as I listen to all my favorite songs, like “I’ve Got a Crush on You” and “Fly Me to the Moon.” It’s as if I’m living in the lyrics, wrapped up in the hope they promise. I find myself swaying to the words as I swipe on my blush, imagining Chris behind me, his arms around my waist as he peppers kisses on my neck and we lose ourselves to the music.
I dress in the outfit I modeled today on my video. An outfit that makes me feel pretty. Desired. Wanted.
And something more. Something new. Something I can’t quite place, so I stop trying.
I kiss my dog goodbye and head to a comedy club, where we’re checking out some up-and-coming comedians.
When I arrive, I see Chris waiting outside, wearing earbuds and lip-synching.
Nerves slam into me. All that warm fuzziness of my alone time flies away, and now I’m faced with the how much am I feeling dilemma. And can I handle it?
But before I have time to decipher the growth of my feelings, he spots me, smiles, and takes out the earphones.
“Rockabilly? Blues? Jazz?” I ask.
His lips tip up in a smile as he shakes his head. “A preview of my sister’s cast album recording for Crash the Moon. She sent me a cut of one of her songs.”
I make grabby hands. “Gimme.”
“Only if you promise to keep it top secret.”
“Swear on my love of Dior knockoffs I won’t say a word,” I say, crossing my heart over my Target top.
“In that case . . .” He hands me the earbuds, and I listen, my eyes widening as my ears fall in love with each gorgeous verse.
When the song is over, I bounce on the toes of my ankle boots. “It’s like listening to a Pink Floyd bootleg in the seventies. At least, I think that’s what it’s like. I was never a Pink Floyd fan. But my dad is. He had all these bootleg albums.”
Chris smiles. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say you’re not a Pink Floyd fan.”
“What? Is that a crime? Their music is too slow and druggy for me.”
“Pink Floyd is awesome. Every single song. I love Pink Floyd.”
“But see, you love everything. So based on that, it’ll never be fair for me to dislike anything, then.”
He laughs and loops an arm around me, guiding me into the club. “You’re a hoot. You know that, right?”
“I’m going to assume a hoot is the highest of compliments,” I say, raising my chin haughtily as we sit at a small table near the front.