“Next time?” He arches an eyebrow. “How about this? What if I promise to stop knocking on your window, and you promise to keep the unicorn death powder locked up?”
I hang my head. I had never been one to play pranks. I’m not a mean-spirited person, and, frankly, the fear of retribution has always stopped me. But something about leaving my life behind and camping in a van, combined with Joe’s general unreachable-ness, makes me very prank-y. Like even right now, as he made the offer, I am thinking about the other bags of colored powder I have stashed in the van and how I could spring them on him.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. I mean, this was a disaster. I’m not cut out for the prank life.” A tiny throat clearing takes care of what was left of the powder in my airway, which only leaves the other 99 percent of my body to wash off. “Shake on it?”
He steps closer to me and his large hand wraps around mine. I can’t help myself. I pull him into a bear hug that I hope will coat his pristine white shirt in all of the colors. I notice a small, satisfying “poof” when our bodies collide.
Then, my brain is occupied by far more interesting things. I thought the hug would feel like the friendly, if obnoxious, salvaging of a prank gone wrong. I expected him to laugh and push me away. The end. I didn’t expect to discover that Joe has his own gravity. Hugging him is like being pulled into his orbit and crash landing onto a landscape of boulderous muscles and his unique brand of mountain air cologne. His thick arms wrap around me, one at my waist and one at my neck, squeezing until I’m on my tip-toes. Hismouth is by my ear and I think I hear him sigh.Did he just sigh?Did I pass out and dream that sigh? This hug is going on for far longer than I intended for a prank hug, and it is pure bliss.
Then he’s pulling away and I’m feeling awkward. That was supposed to be the obvious second half of my failed prank. Does he think I was only going in for a big friendship hug? Does he have no idea his white shirt is now smudged with pastel powder? How did that prank hug turn weird so fast?
Now he’s running a hand on the back of his neck. I’ve made him so uncomfortable I can’t stand it.
“Sorry, I—”
“Want to go—”
Our words run over each other, and we both laugh nervously.
He grins. “Go ahead.”
“No, what were you going to say? I liked where that was going.” I grin right back.
He’s rubbing his neck again, which gives me a distracting view of his right bicep. “I was going to ask if you want to go out. Tonight.”
“As friends, or like a date?”
“A date.”
I want to cry. I want to laugh. I might’ve unleashed one of those tiny screams that doesn’t escape the throat. I pray that the sound is lost in the wind. The only response I can muster is, “Yeah,” with a smile that I hope isn’t crazy-eyed.
Based on his crooked grin, he definitely heard my muffled throat scream. His chocolatey eyes are zeroed in on mine when he says, “Does six work? Meet you here?”
“Yeah.” I nod vigorously.
“Am I allowed to text you for no reason now?”
More nodding from me.
“Should I let you go?”
Nod, nod, nod.
“Okay, then.” He winks and turns away, twirling his keys around his index finger once and catching them.
I’m still nodding vigorously as I escape to my van where I can hyperventilate in peace, slamming the door. I hear him chuckle as he walks away and the sound of his Bronco rumbling away a minute later.
I have twelve hours to find something sexy to wear and relearn how to speak in full sentences.I have a date with Joe Pratt.
INDIE: Red alert!
SUNNY: Everything okay?
MERCER: Girl, did you kick a scorpion again?
