Page 117 of Insincerely Yours
No.
No, no, no, no. Wes can’t already be here—
The notification comes up on my phone, and I’m all too relieved to see it’s just a delivery man holding a box and clipboard. Putting my cell into my clutch and setting it down, I hurry to answer the door and sign for the package intended for my sister. It’s almost always clothes or beauty supplies, so I’m a little taken aback to see the printed labels stamped all over the box declaringTITAN SECURITYin big, bold letters.
Just as I shut the front door, I see a BMW pulling into the end of the driveway through the side window. Since Wes drives a Toyota, it’s safe to assume it’s one of Blythe’s friends or Dad’s golfing buddies, but to my surprise, a familiar head of wavy dark hair emerges as the driver climbs out.
Shit.
Wes is eight minutes early.
I run (or at least attempt to, given my heels) back to the kitchen and grab my clutch off the counter.
Before I can run back out, Jase catches my wrist. “You okay?”
“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” My voice comes out far too high-pitched to sound natural, but I plaster on a smile anyway.
“You sure?” His eyes drift down to where he’s holding me. “You’re shaking.”
Thankfully, it’s contained to my hands, but the effect is clearly more than first-date jitters. My anxiety is rearing its ugly head, and it’s taking everything in me not to scream just to overwhelm that nasty little voice in my mind.
Because all I can hear right now is Blythe. The way she’s going to laugh or scoff or say, “I told you so,” when word gets back to her how I embarrassed myself on my date, or said the wrong thing, or made some grand faux pas without even realizing it, proving just how puerile I really am.
And the fact that my anxiety literally has a voice only adds to the wave of emotions, because I hadn’t heard it once when I was away at school. Sure, I felt uncomfortable and awkward, like any introvert in a new social setting, but I wasn’t ever reduced to a trembling mess, not even around Wes.
I’m well aware that Blythe is one of my stressors, but it’s unsettling and infuriating and just downright disheartening that her influence has bled its way into my social life again. I thought I had put that behind me, yet I can hear her sharp guffaw ringing through my head, mocking me.
I try to drown it out with my own internal voice, but all I can manifest is a repeated track of,“You’re going to mess this up, you’re going to mess this up, you’re—”
Jase’s fingers give the lightest squeeze to my wrist, the sensation and accompanying warmth grounding me. “Seriously, if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”
And prove to Blythe that she’s right? That I’m so much of a mess I can’t get through a simple date? “I’m fine, really.”
He doesn’t look remotely convinced but doesn’t press the matter, letting go of me. Still, Jase adds, “Call me if you need backup or an extraction. I’ll have you out of there in five minutes.”
The tension in my chest eases ever so slightly at the smile he offers, and I let out a soft laugh. “You’re fifteen minutes from the restaurant.”
“Oh, you underestimate my ability to completely disregard speed limits.”
“Good to know.” I have a blazer just in case the restaurant is chilly, but I don’t put it on, simultaneously gripping and draping the fabric over my hands to conceal my shaking.
No matter how good or bad this date goes, it’s just that. A date,I assure myself. Regardless of how Blythe and the others are acting, Wes isn’t a prince. He’s just a person. A person youlike. It doesn’t matter how fancy the restaurant is. This is no different than talking to him at a party or during our study sessions—something you’ve done countless times over the last nine months. You’re not Cinderella, and the clock isn’t about to strike midnight. This isn’t a fairytale. This is a completely normal date with a completely normal guy.
Answering the front door, I swear the universe is fucking with me. The sun isn’t quite setting just yet, but it’s low enough in the sky to bathe the entire front lawn, as well as Wes, in a sheet of golden light. There are bunnies hopping and birdschirping and squirrels bouncing about in the background, and, I kid you not, there’s even a freaking deer grazing in the Millers’ yard across the street. And Wes looks good. Better than good. Some might even sayprincely, staged with the perfect fairytale backdrop, woodland creatures included. Apart from the exquisitely tailored black suit he’s wearing, Wes is reminding me an awful lot of James Marsden fromEnchanted, and at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he burst into song about dreaming of a true love’s kiss. It’sthatabsurdly picturesque.
Oh, and look, he’s handing me a white rose that just so happens to match the perfect white shade of his perfectly straight teeth.
The only thing that breaks the fairytale illusion is the sudden rev of the lawnmower next door, and I couldn’t be more grateful for it. Because it’s loud—chainsaw loud—cutting off whatever Wes started to say. We both laugh as I take the rose and open the door further to invite him inside.
Even after I’ve closed the door, shutting out the parody Leatherface soundtrack outside, he winces, albeit playfully, looking at the single rose I’m now holding. “Too much?”
“No, it’s the perfect amount of cheesy,” I assure him, because that’s what Wes is. Perfect. It’s not just his teeth or his face or his manners. That accent could melt any XY-attracted human into a puddle on the floor. He’s thin in a sinewy way, with just enough muscle to not be scrawny but not too much to seem intimidating. And there’s something incredibly disarming about his entire demeanor. Wes isn’t cocky, but he isn’t diffident either. He’s sweet but not so much that he’ll give you a toothache. There’s something inherently calm about him. If he were a dog, I’d imagine him as an Irish Wolfhound. Graceful and dignified, unlike Jase, who would likely be a German Shepherd. Ridiculously territorial and aggressive if not properly socialized.
The thought almost makes me laugh, and thank the heavens I have an excuse to turn my back to Wes before he can see. I head back down the main hallway to the kitchen so I can procure a bud vase for my newly obtained rose. Wes follows after me, complimenting the organic modern architecture, which I know my dad would be thrilled to hear, and I’m a little too relieved to find the kitchen empty upon my return. Trying to explain who Jase is and why he’s only a pair of sweatpants away from displaying full nudity isn’t ranking high on my list of preferred topics this evening.
I clip off the end of the rose and fill a vase with water, nodding back to the front of the house. “Is something wrong with your car?” Wes looks thoroughly confused, so I clarify, “I’ve only ever seen you driving the Toyota.”
He smiles. “That’s just for university. I was hoping to get the genuine ‘American college experience,’ so the only reason my parents agreed not to place a full-time security team on me during the year was if I did everything possible to not draw attention to myself.”
