I still have a few hours to decide if I want to meet Nash. To decide if it’s a mistake to see him at all after the kiss with James last night.
Salem follows me as I shuffle through the apartment, his purring a constant reminder that he’s the only unproblematic male in my life.
I spend the day doing everything I can not to think about James. I fold laundry, water the plants, and organize my books alphabetically by author. Each task is a brief pause in the cycle of my thoughts, a fleeting distraction from the questions I’m refusing to answer.
By the time I’ve run out of chores, it’s already late afternoon. I decide I should go to dinner, knowing I’ll regret it if I don’t.
Besides, Nash always makes me laugh, and maybe he’ll distract me from the embarrassment of last night.
I move through my room, pulling clothes from the closet. With each choice, I tell myself it’s just dinner.
No big deal.
I reach for my favorite pair of jeans and a nice blouse that compliments my eyes. I slip into the clothes, fussing with the blouse’s collar until it’s just right.
I glance in the mirror, a mix of nerves and eagerness staring back at me.
As I reach for my jewelry box, I hesitate, my fingers grazing the delicate earrings I always get compliments on. I pair them with a simple necklace I know Nash will like and pause, surprised by how much I care what he thinks.
I imagine Nash’s easy smile, the way he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.
Taking a deep breath, I run my fingers through my hair and head to the door.
The neighborhood buzzes with its usual weekend energy as I walk to my car. I slip in, the seatbelt snug across my chest like a reminder to keep myself together. The engine purrs to life, and I pull away from the curb, the city unfolding around me.
When I pull up to the address Nash texted, I double check to make sure I’m in the right place.
This…isn’t a restaurant. It’s a townhome. Nash’s home.
My cheeks flush with anger, and the sensation of being trapped sets in. There’s a flicker of betrayal, a quick flash of uncertainty, and I grip the steering wheel, fighting the urge to turn back. This was not what I expected.
But I’m already here, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of bailing. I take a deep breath, unclench my hands, and step out of the car.
I walk up the stone path, every step a decision to follow through, to not back out. When I reach the door, I hesitate, my heart pounding. I knock, determined to see this through.
Nash answers almost immediately, as if he was waiting right on the other side. I glare at him, but his smile is wide, disarming.
“You made it,” he says, like he anticipated this reaction from me. “Come in,” Nash says, stepping back, his eyes bright with mischief.
I cross the threshold, feeling the warmth of the space.
It’s more inviting than I would have expected, more thought out. I take in the exposed brick, the soft lighting, the guitars lining the walls. It has Nash written all over it.
Turning my scowl back to Nash and folding my arms, I say, “This was your plan? Inviting me to your home, Nash?”
“Well, you said ‘lowkey’ about a hundred times. Doesn’t get much lower key than this, doll,” he says, looking amused by my irritation.
“I’m not your doll,” I bite back.
“No? Then why do I want to play with you so badly?” He steps closer, and my cheeks heat for a moment before I remember myself, forcing the flush away.
“I agreed to dinner, Nash. I’m not here to fuck you. You asked for a chance, so I’m giving you a chance.” I pause before adding, “Don’t waste it.”
“I don’t plan to,” he says, the look on his face more sincere than I’ve seen from him.
“So what’s for dinner?” I ask, hoping to redirect the tension that’s building fast.
“Pizza,” he says with a grin.
