Izzy
“Izzy!”Beccacallsfromthe kitchen. “Your date is here.”
I look in the mirror one final time. I’ve got on my cutest pair of jeans, the ones with buttons instead of a zipper, and a dark red top that barely hits the top of my high-waisted jeans. The back of the shirt is made of two overlapping pieces of fabric instead of one, so my spine peeks out when I lean forward. It’s…well, the best I can do. I don’t have date clothes.
“Coming!” I yell back before slipping my feet into the nice sandals I usually reserve for summer weddings.
“Well, as per usual, this is as good as it’s going to get,” I say to my reflection, wishing my Anne Hathaway impression would somehow call into existence a Julie Andrews to help me look just a little more put together. Why, in the name of all things holy, did I never learn how to appropriately apply more makeup than just mascara and some lip gloss?
I walk out of my room and immediately find Jaxon Steele in his date-night finest. And by that, I mean the dark jeans, whitebutton-down, and black boots he likely wears every day back in Nashville—at least when it’s not a million degrees outside. Unfortunately for my poor, deprived lady parts, it’s a good fucking look.
“Hey,” I say, forcing out a cough when my voice comes out squeakier than usual.
“Hey, Iz,” he says, his eyes softening as his smile unfurls across his face. “You look great.”
I glance at my outfit, not sure what about it he thinks is “great,” but decide he’s likely just being polite.
“Izzy,” I remind him. “I wasn’t sure what one wears on a date that isn’t a date but that needs to get people thinking it could be a date, so when we’re dating in a few weeks, people are like, well, that makes sense since they went on that date a few weeks ago,” I ramble as I grab the magnet wallet for the back of my phone and my lip gloss.
Jaxon laughs. “Yeah, I also super overthought my outfit.”
Becca laughs from her spectator spot next to the sink, and I stick my tongue out at them both.
“Well, let’s get this over with, then,” I say, pulling open the door.
“Ah, just what every man wants to hear on a first date,” Jaxon teases. “I’m not sure my ego can handle the boost.”
“Is that why it was so hard to get through the door?” I ask, reaching out to poke the air about two feet to the right of Jaxon’s head. “I thought I’d suddenly reached the end of the alternate universe I somehow ended up in.”
“Rude,” Jaxon says playfully, reaching out to poke my side.
I laugh at just the wrong moment, causing his finger to catch the edge of my shirt before running along my ribs. I shiver as if his finger is sending out waves of ice rather than the overwhelming heat it is. And then refuse to think about why my body would respond like that to his touch.
This is afakedate.
***
“Do we hold hands?” Jaxon asks as we make our way toward the open bar seats at Wild Crusts after getting the “all clear” from Jaxon’s security team. It’s the perfect place to be seen without it being clear whether this is a date or not.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“I don’t think that aggressive of a headshake was necessary. I like holding hands. Think it could really sell it.”
The pizza place isn’t too busy tonight, with just a couple of tables and a few seats taken at the bar. There’s a back patio that people occasionally use, but it’s too hot tonight for that. And I can’t imagine how terrible the flies would be between the heat and the food.
Instead, we opt for seats at the bar and are able to quickly order a beer. We seem to be on the same page about needing a little bit of liquid courage to help us through the night but aren’t risking letting our drunk sides make any decisions. Or maybe that’s just me, and he just likes beer with his pizza.
Once the bartender moves to help another customer, I say, “Remember, we’re not trying to sell dating right now. We’re trying to sell me not hating you.”
“I think people already know that based on the number of coffees I’ve ordered for you.”
I raise a skeptical eyebrow at him.
He chuckles as he says, “Okay, but itdidwork. You did forgive me.”
“Eh,” I say noncommittally, trying not to notice the way the gold flecks in his eyes glints when he’s amused.
I take a sip of my beer, letting the liquid cool the small flame of attraction I can’t seem to put out. I’m not attracted to him, but my body refuses to agree with that.
