“Catching feelings doesn’t mean you immediately have to get Xander’s name tattooed in an arrow heart across your forehead. It just means you acknowledge something is there, and you get to decide what to do with it.”
“It can mean nothing?”
“If that’s what you decide, yes,” she says.
What comes next from me is a mammoth sigh. Relief spreads through my shoulders and I drop them down an inch.
It can mean absolutely nothing. And while I might have to physically be in Xander’s presence for the rest of the sleep study, there’s my exit strategy.
“You make me feel warm and fuzzy inside,” I say to her. My way of thanking her.
“Hugs,” she says.
“Hugs,” I say back.
When I slowly close the door to our room, I turn around to see Xander awake.
“Come here,” he says, opening the duvet. It’s an invitation. But before my flight, fight, freeze response kicks in, I remind myself it’s not an invitation till death do us part, and I can do this. It doesn’t mean anything.
So I get into bed and snuggle Xander to sleep.
“Twizzlers for life,” I say, using my mouth to tear open the family-sized packet while clinging onto my third cup of coffee like my life depends on it. I hear Xander scoff next to me, and I turn to him and his heartbreaker Wayfarers. “Let me guess, you’re a Red Vines guy?”
“They’re both terrible options,” he says, shaking his head as he reaches for a packet of candy corn. I didn’t even know you could buy that shit outside of Halloween.
“That’s your idea of a good time?” I say, my turn to scoff.
“Party in my mouth,” he says, before he throws a single piece into the air and catches it between his lips. He looks over at me, chewing vigorously on the hardened piece of trash candy before driving us out of the parking lot.
Welcome to the third date, in which we went from leaving the sleep study to the gas station for snacks, to driving along the 101 in peak rush hour. Because Xander is fucking insane. This might end up going down as the worst date in history, if we ever finish it. Or we might just die here. Bumper to bumper.
Also, I have no idea where we’re going. And I don’t know if Xander thinks it’s cute to keep it a secret, but the traffic we’re crawling in has me muttering under my breath.
This morning at the sleep study, Ben woke us up like a kid on Christmas morning, informing Xander that he’d slept for a total of four hours. “That’s your new record,” Ben said, like he was announcing an entry into the Guinness World Records for sleeping. And after my debrief with Em in the bathroom a few nights ago, I’ve been sleeping like a goldendoodle that just got adopted by a rich white woman. You know, warm, tucked in, and taking up most of the bed.
Basically, we have continued to attend the sleep study without any moreincidents.
“Care to share where we’re going?” I say through a mouthful of red flavored plastic. Yum. I glance over at him, and with the windows down, his curls are whipping around, having the time of their lives.
His lips tip into a smile and the text from Em flashes in my mind.I like him. You should too.
“To learn all about our hopes and dreams …,” Xander starts but deliberately stops, giving me time to react.
“Gag.”
“We need to go back to the very beginning,” he finishes, like he’s perfected when to talk, when to let me cut in, and when to continue. Okay. Not bad. A bit considerate.
“What cryptic shit is that?” I say, while simultaneously trying to crack the code like I’m Bruce Willis inDie Hard with a Vengeance.
The hopes and dreams bit is from his/society’s definition of what constitutes a date. But what’s the “very beginning” of Xander’s hopes and dreams?
“Are you taking mehome?” I say, lifting my eyebrow.
Two hours later, we pull up into a parking lot on the side of the road, just outside of Santa Barbara.
“Rincon Beach,” Xander says, which, judging by how full the parking lot is, and how many fit surfers there are running to and from the beach, is the one decent surf spot in Southern California.
“You grew uphere?” I say, trying to consolidate the sharp-tongued corporate lawyer with the laid-back beach boy vibes of the three surfer dudes hanging around the trunk of their car. Their naked torsos ripple with every movement.
