Nope. Absolutely not. This isn’t the one.
I quickly remove the clothing, swapping it for a black dress and a pair of heels.
But this isn’t right either. Ughh. I let out a muted scream as I stomp my foot, like a child.
Why is this so hard? This is ridiculous. He’s not expecting some prima donna. He saw me dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a jersey and liked me then. I need to stop thinking so hard.
I go back to the jeans, but choose a form-fitting blouse, completing the look with a pair of cute booties. Mind made up, and happy with my attire, I head downstairs to the living room. The lights flash in the house, telling me someone’s ringing the doorbell.
Raising up on my toes, I look through the peephole and see James, holding a to-go coffee and smirking like he already knows I’m spiraling. Of course he knows. He’s my best friend and knows all about my anxiety. I open the door, and he steps in, hands me my coffee and starts signing.
You’re stressing. Aren’t you?
I let out a laugh.
You think? If you saw my room right now, you wouldn’t be asking.
That bad?
You have no idea. And since when do you ring the doorbell? You have a key. Do you just pick and choose when you want to come in?
I did have my hands full.
He smirks as he heads to the living room and drops down on the couch. I’m glad Mom’s not here or she would’ve had a heart attack, anxious that the lid on his cup would pop off and her beautiful white couch would be forever stained.
Crossing the room, I sit down beside him, my knee nervously bouncing as I take a sip of the coffee. Maybe the caffeine will calm me. Soothe my anxiousness. It doesn’t, so I set my cup beside his on the coffee table.
It’s cute. I’ve never seen you this worked up over a guy before. Not even Joseph.
I roll my eyes. Even his name makes me want to hurl. I’m over him, and glad that I found out what a dick he was in the beginning. But that doesn’t take away the pain of being rejected by the one person who should want you more than anyone.
It’s not nerves. It’s indecision about what I should wear. If he’s going to like it. Like me.
He grins, signing,Uh-huh. Nerves. What’s the big deal? It’s just a date.
I lift my hands ready to respond, but I hesitate. Biting my lower lip, I think about what I want to say. My fingers begin to move slowly as I formulate my words.
It’s not just a date. It’s Lincoln. I actually… like him. And I’m afraid of doing or saying something that’s going to fuck it all up.
He reaches out, taking my hand in his, squeezing gently, reassuring me I’m going to be okay.
So what are you wearing? Something that says “I’m confident” or “Please don’t tell my brother”?
I laugh, then suddenly rethink my choice of clothing.
Both. I was actually going to wear this.
I move my hands, gesturing toward my clothes.
James sighs, then taps his finger on his chin as he eyes me up and down.
The jeans and boots I like. The shirt feels too stiff. Like you’re about to go into a boardroom.
Okay. So, no to the shirt. I can do that.
Come on, let’s go to your room.
James stands up, takes my hand in his, and leads me to my bedroom. He is the only man, other than my dad or Benton, that is allowed in my room. When I open the door, his eyes go wide, and immediately his fingers go crazy, slicing through the air, signing.
