Upside Down(26)

“You look like you bathed in the blood of your enemies,” I answered honestly. “I like it. And it would go really well with your brown or navy tunic.”

She nodded thoughtfully and took the shirt to the counter. “I knew there was a reason I brought you.”

“Merry,” I whined. “What do I do?”

“Text him.”

I whined and stopped short of stomping my foot. “But what if—”

Merry turned to the young lady behind the counter who was ringing up the sale. “If you spent the day with someone and had a wonderful time and they gave you their number and asked you to text them, what would you do?”

The young girl shrugged. “Text them.”

Merry turned to me. “See? It’s two to one. You’re outvoted. Either text him or stop the whining.”

This was Merry’s ‘I’m so sick of your bullshit’ tone, so I was pretty sure I’d whined long enough. “Okay, okay.” I pulled my phone from my pocket, found his number, and sent him a text.

Hey, Hennessy, this is Jordan. Hope you survived the dinner party last night. I had a really good time yesterday, just thought you should know.

I pressed Send before I could change my mind. Then I cringed at myself, and then I cringed at Merry. “God, this is all your fault. He’s going to think I’m an idiot, and even worse than that, he’s going to think I’m a clingy idiot. And what if his friends did try hooking him up again with another blind date? And what if he was an asexual Matt Bomer, and then Hennessy will be all like ‘Jordan who? That really weird guy that has verbal diarrhoea and yells out motherfucker to little old ladies on the bus?’”

The girl behind the counter stared at me, and Merry did that head-tilting thing again. “You called a little old lady on the bus a motherfucker?”

“Not directly. Also said it to the sliding door at work when I tripped over the chair. That was the only time I said it yesterday for the entire time we were together, which is like a record for me.”

Merry nodded. “That is pretty good for you.”

“I’m trying to find a new word, but there just aren’t any that are as versatile as motherfucker.”

Merry gave that a thought. “True.”

“I know. But I’m trying to stop saying it. I need something cutesy to say instead.”

“Yikes is pretty good,” the girl behind the counter said.

“Yikes?” I asked and took Merry’s shopping bag, giving the now-creepy sales lady the eye, because honestly, who the fuck says yikes? I gave Merry a wide-eyed stare. “Come on, Velma. Let’s go see what Scooby Doo is up to.”

I dragged Merry out of the store, we dumped our empty drinks in a bin, and I told her very seriously, “If I ever say yikes in lieu of motherfucker, it means I’ve been kidnapped by aliens or some shady government agency, and yikes is my distress beacon and you should drop everything and call Jason Bourne or Idris Elba or someone.”

Merry laughed. “Duly noted.”

My phone beeped in my hand and I tripped over my own feet, almost falling to the ground but catching myself just in time. “Motherfucker.”

Merry grabbed my arm. “Jordan, be careful!”

“This is entirely your fault,” I told her. “You made me go to the support meeting, and you made me speak to him on the bus, and you made me text him.”

“Well, hurry up and read his reply!” she said, ignoring my place of blame and waving her hand in a hurry up fashion. “Don’t leave me hanging! What did he say?”

I held my phone out with my hand over the screen. “What if it’s not good?”

“Oh Jesus H Christ, Jordan. So help me, read the motherfucking message.”

An elderly man who happened to be walking past, gasped at Merry, frowning. “Well, I’ve never…,” he said, hand to his heart as he scurried away.

I grinned at her. “Yeah, Merry, you really shouldn’t swear.”

She inhaled deeply, her eyes shooting daggers at me. “Siri, what’s the average prison time for grievous bodily harm?”

“Siri, where can I find myself a new best friend?”

Merry glared. “Jordan. Read the goddamn text.”

I peeked at my screen, my stomach in knots, my heart in my throat.

Hey, Jordan, so good to hear from you. No blind date set-up, thank God. I had a great time yesterday too, and I’m thinking of all the questions I’m going to ask you on the bus. One for each day, right?

I grinned at Merry. “Every day on the bus, he’s going to ask me those questions he mentioned. And it’s good to hear from me and he had a great time too.”

Merry rolled her eyes but smiled. “I think it’s safe to say next weekend is a date.”

I made a crazy face and did a happy dance, then stopped. “Oh my God, what do I reply?”

“Just be yourself.”

I cringed. “God, I don’t want him to run away screaming.”

“Well, say something that’s fun and flirty, in an asexual way.”

I stared at her. “What does that even mean?”

“Well, nothing too flirty or sexy.”

My stare became a squint. “Uh, have you met me? Any attempt at me being flirty has either ended in mortification for everyone involved, including innocent bystanders, or the guy asking if I’m feeling okay or if I’m allowed out unsupervised. It’s not good. It’s horrendous, actually. And as for sexy? All I want really big and rock-hard on a guy is his IQ, and what I consider to be hardcore porn is a picture of a guy reading a book with a hard cover. Soft-core porn is a paperback, and browsing Amazon is my version of PornHub, okay?”