I wasn’t casual with a hint of boho-edge and the ability to class it up, like Raye. Or full boho like Luna. Or minimalist, like Jess. Or romantic and girlie, like Harlow. Or the cottagecore/girl-next-door thing Gemma had going on. Or the edgy gig that Joey was into.
And I certainly didn’t have time to create my own unique brand of chic, like Shanti’s edgy/earthy/cultural/glam/street style.
Half the time I didn’t know what I was putting on, except it was comfy, and I felt okay in it.
I mean, I was pretty, but I wasn’t a knockout.
I had an okay body, but I wasn’t a bombshell.
“What the fuck does he see in me?” I asked my reflection.
Oh boy, here we go, Dreamer moaned.
Good afternoon, you stupid bimbo, this is your actual logic speaking. Cut the crap and text him, or better yet just call him, Real Logic ordered.
Earlier, she was worried he was over it just because she thinks he thinks he bested the challenge, Dreamer told Real Logic.
I heard. I wish she’d let me take over the next time we talk to him. I’d verbally slap that bio dad of hers upside the head for the damage he’s done. What a douche, Real Logic replied.
Right? Dreamer agreed.
Oh God, Pessimism was gone, and now I had Real Logic, and I wasn’t sure that was much better.
What I was sure of was that I was being an idiot.
So I left the bathroom. Turned off the light. Hit my phone. Threw myself on my couch.
And I decided on, Do you know how to pick a lock without looking like you’re picking a lock? as my text to Gabe.
I was contemplating making a sandwich. Or doing it up with my own personal charcuterie board. Or allowing myself to be a little less responsible and treat myself to a new pair of flip-flops (or something) when my next text occurred to me.
And do you have any stuff to make a disguise? Like a fake moustache? I asked him.
After deliberating about maybe cueing up a movie, or diving into a juicy documentary, doing a not-fussed scroll through what was streaming and finding nothing that struck my fancy (I wasn’t going to watch more Shetland without Gabe, even if he’d already seen it), I lugged myself out of the couch.
I was standing in my open refrigerator trying to decide on snack or actual meal, at the same time thinking I might want to take a hot bath, at the same time wondering if Alexis was over the emotional ambush of yesterday and wanted to chat cakes, at the same time trying not to panic that some time had passed and Gabe didn’t text back, when there were two sharp raps on my door.
No “It’s me.”
But the locks went, and Gabe was there.
I stood unmoving as he prowled to me, grabbing my bag from the kitchen bar while he did.
He shut the refrigerator door and shoved my purse at me. After I took it, he claimed my hand and hauled me out of the kitchen to the couch, where I’d left my phone.
He picked up my phone, handed it to me, then tugged me out the door.
He stopped us and locked up.
Then he dragged me down the walk, out the security gate to his Wrangler.
I was sitting in it, and he was switching on the ignition, when I found my voice.
“Well, hello to you too.”
“We’re going to dunch,” he stated, pulling out.
“Dunch?”
