The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(55)

Foster’s legs carried her to the door before her mind finished building a case as to why she should slip back into her sweatpants and pretend this whole date idea never happened.

“Hi.” She opened the door, a gentle gust dancing in the soft waves of her hair as it wrapped around her chest and ever so gracefully twirled and lifted the ends of her skirt. Man, was she learning how to make an entrance.

“Whoa. I—You—” Tate tugged at the neck of his shirt. “A dress.”

Foster tilted her chin. “Thanks.” She grinned, deciding that a dress had to be short for you are amazing, and I don’t have a girlfriend back in Nowheresville, and I’d be honored to be your best friend and boyfriend.

“So, are you busy, like,” Foster glanced at her wrist as if her freckles could somehow show her the time. “Nowish?”

“No, no, definitely not. Finn said something about seeing me later, but I can tell him that I’m doing something else. I mean, if you want to, you know,” he coughed before clearing his throat. “Do something, or something.”

Foster couldn’t help but blush. He was tripping all over himself, and not in his normal Tate-ish way. This was different. He was nervous. And that made two of them.

“Actually, Sabine told me about this place just down the road. The same one where you get those spaceship squashes. I guess they have food and there’s a live band and they set up a dance floor. They were going to come by and get us so we could go on a—”

“Double date!” Tate’s cheeks flushed bubblegum pink.

Foster smiled. “So you want to?”

“Yes!” His cheeks were blazing now, and Foster felt a little foolish for ever turning this whole double date invite into such a huge thing.



* * *



Foster crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and then finally settled on placing her hands in her lap as she sat at the picnic table with Sabine while they waited for Finn and Tate to return with glasses of what Sabine called the world’s best marionberry lemonade.

The small crowd’s spirited laughter drifted over to them on the backs of fluttering monarchs as they flitted between the tables on their way to fresh sprigs of bright purple flowers that were potted around the edges of the dance floor. Foster closed her eyes for a brief moment, listening to the gently tinkling wind chimes hanging around the red barn’s storefront, all lit up with sparkling strands of lights.

A soft gust swirled up from under the wooden table, and Foster pressed her hands more firmly against her thighs. She wasn’t used to having to be so vigilant about keeping her goodies hidden from the outside world. That’s what pants were for.

“See, you look like a girl. A pretty girl. Especially when you don’t do that.” Sabine waggled her finger across the table at Foster’s face. “Frown all annoyed and pee pantsy like that.”

“I’m not frowning,” Foster huffed, realizing she was indeed frowning. “And I don’t have to wear a dress to look pretty or like a girl.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Look at me,” Sabine stood, did a sassy little twirl, the fringed edges of her crop top lifting from her jeans to join in her spin, and sat back down. “I’m not wearing a dress and I look good enough to eat. I only meant that a change in clothes can make you feel like a completely different woman. So can a good wig or a pair of thigh-high faux leather boots, but I don’t think you’re ready for either of those things.”

“Not ready for what?” Finn asked as he and Tate set down the drinks and he took a seat on the bench next to Sabine.

“For these moves!” Sabine grabbed Finn’s hand and practically pulled him onto the dance floor. “See you two out there.” She winked before galloping over to where Finn was standing, snapping and tapping the toe of his boot to the beat.

“So, what do you think?” Tate shoved his hands into his pockets and removed them just as quickly. “Would you like to dance? Again?”

“Well, yeah, but this is a slow song, not a swing-me-around song.”

“Hey, no worries. I can do slow, just follow me. I got ya. Again.”

“You won’t drop me this time?”

“Never.”

Foster felt kind of drunk as Tate offered her his hand and guided her to the makeshift dance floor. Bubbles of excitement popped throughout her body, making her dizzy and fizzy and giddy. The only other time she’d felt like this was after half a bottle of cheap champagne in at, well, space camp.

“Fucking space camp,” she mumbled.

“What was that?” Tate’s eyes were the same endless blue as the sky, and Foster thought, for a moment, that if he never looked at her again she might just die.

“I’m having a great time. It’s wonderful, really.” If Past Foster could see her now, she’d smack her and tell her that the world was unraveling and people needed saving and she hadn’t spent nearly enough time being depressed. But Present Foster didn’t much care for her former prickly, grumpy self. She wanted to bottle this girl, this moment, this feeling, and be this new person forever. Foster lifted her hand from Tate’s broad shoulder, flipped her hair, and giggled.

“You’re laughing.”

“I am.”

Tate moved her slowly, confidently around the dance floor. His hand lowered to the small of her back as his thick fingers spread wide and he held her more firmly, pressing her to him, squeezing the air out of the space keeping them apart.