Page 44 of Perfect Date
With a hint of anxiety, shielding my face and ignoring the faint, steady pulsing beat in my head and general body achiness, my eyes drift over the long gray curtains hanging to the side of the bright window. Studying my bedroom, I evaluate what Justin saw the night before.
The light gray walls, the dark gray bed frame that stands out against the white down comforter, and baby blue blankets and sheets. The white bedside tables, white fuzzy rug on hardwood floors, my favorite perfume bottles lined up in a row atop my long white dresser, and my vanity. I love my beloved black, white, and gray misty forest paintings hanging on the wall and smile when my gaze catches sight of them. There are also clothes spilling out of my hamper, and my open closet doors expose a little bit of messiness.
I guess it could be worse.
Remembering details of the night before is a bit tough. Is it the pain meds I vaguely remember taking that created this bit of a fog? I remember the crowd and getting jostled and hurt in the scuffle, Justin insisting we go to the hospital, the sting of the numbing agent as it was injected into my forehead before getting stitches. My mind strains to recall more of the evening and I envision throwing up in front of him - which brings a flush of embarrassment to my face even now. If that doesn’t send him running for the hills, he may be a keeper.
Then I consider that we’re just fake dating anyway, so he’s not mine to keep and I guess his reaction to my getting sick doesn’t really matter. Sighing, I silently admit, truth is, I care anyway.
Pushing the stirred feelings catalyzed by my thoughts aside, I again remember Justin driving me home and waiting outside the bathroom making sure I was okay. I don’t remember much else other than a vague recollection of being helped into bed while being teased by him saying, “Don’t let the bed bugs bite, sweetheart.”
Smiling, as his words and voice echo again in my mind a thought becomes crystal clear, I like him. I really like him.
Last night’s date started off so frustrating as I battled to both understand and minimize why he would stand me up. It markedly improved after he arrived. I enjoyed my conversation with him and feel like we really clicked. Talking with him felt easy and natural. The feelings he evokes in me make me excited and eager to feel more. I slightly shake my head in disbelief, once again thinking about the craziness that occurred and how I happened to be caught up in it all. To say I really wish the date had ended better is an understatement.
If it had been allowed to progress more normally, would he have kissed me? How would it have felt? Would it have been soft? Or hard and urgent? More importantly, how would it have made me feel? Excited? Happy? Wanting more? I imagine I would have felt all of those things.
With a sigh, I look toward my nightstand to see the time and capture my phone in my field of vision. Sitting there all nice and happily on my charger where I forgot it last night.
Pushing my comforter down my body, freeing myself a little, I reach for my phone, the movement making my head pound a little more intensely, I realize it’s heavy feeling and quite sore. As is my body. I feel deeply achy, where I hit the floor. I imagine I’m sporting a few bruises today.
Groaning, I squint at the screen and see the numerous texts and calls that Justin told me he’d sent last night. It’s nice to see them - not that I thought he was lying at all, but recalling his frustration at not being there makes me feel better.
“Charlie, there’s an accident blocking the whole damn road, and I can’t get through. I’m going to be late. Wait for me.” “Hey, this isn’t getting better, we still aren’t moving.” “I’m about to drive on the shoulder of the road, lights flashing, consequences be damned.” That one makes me huff out a slight laugh. “I just know you’re sitting there looking amazing, waiting for me. Don’t leave!’ Then, as if I can feel his relief through his words, the last one says, “Finally heading your way.” There are also several missed calls from him as well. I can’t help but note there’s nothing this morning and it makes me feel a little disappointed.
Kimberly blew up my phone last night as well. “How did your date go?” “Did his jaw drop when he saw you? Bet it did, I do good work!” “Text me back, bitch, I want the details!” “Am I to assume your lack of response means you got lucky?” This is followed up by numerous four-leaf clover emojis.
Giggling, I type out a quick response after tentatively touching my brow, “Girl, trust me when I tell you, you’ll have to see me to believe me.”
Placing my phone back on the table, suddenly aware I can’t put off the inevitable any longer, I push the covers down further and gingerly swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand. Swaying a little, I reach down for the bed to brace myself.
It’s then I realize I’m dressed only in my bra and underwear - the very sexy and skimpy lingerie that Kimberly teased me about the night before.
Gasping, I cover my mouth with my hand while I wrack my brain trying to remember my dress coming off last night – or more importantlywhoremoved my dress. If it was me, was I alone? Did Justin see? My face flushes at the thought.
Needing the bathroom, I turn and almost trip as my foot gets caught in my dress that is occupying the floor.
Hands reach out and steady me, “Careful, sweetheart.”
Startled and vocalizing a high-pitched sound, I gasp and shake with fright so hard I’m thankful he’s holding onto me aware that otherwise I surely would have fallen over. “Oh my god!”
As slight relief occurs, I realize his hands are on my half naked body and I flush hard, head to toe.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Justin says.
Just standing there. Staring at me. Like I’m not almost naked.
“I didn’t know you were still here.”
“Are you feeling okay? Head aching?” He asks, looking at me with concern lacing his tone and coloring his face.
“My head hurts,” I answer honestly.
“Is that all? Nauseous? Dizzy? Ringing in your ears? Feeling irritable or anxious?”
Oh god. This is all so embarrassing.
“No, I don’t think so.”
