“Are you really coming here?”
“Why? Do you not want me to?”
“Colin!” I whine. “Are you serious right now?”
“I mean, I can turn around if you don’t want to see me.”
My pulse races. “Where are you?” I ask.
“On the parkway,” he says.
“Which parkway?”
“The Southern State. Heading towards the Belt.”
“Stop. You’renot.”
“Oh, I am.”
“But—” I protest.
“But what, Gracie Landing?”
“I’m not ready!”
“Not ready for what, exactly?”
“Not ready for you to see me looking like crap! I just got out of the shower!”
“Then it sounds like you’re completely ready, in my opinion.”
“Colin! I’m serious!”
“All I’m saying is if I were you, I’d stop chitchatting on the phone and gogetready.”
“I hate you!” I laugh.
“I know. I hate you too, princess. Now, off you go. GPS says I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
“Colin!” I moan.
“Can’t wait!” he says.
“Ugh! Goodbye!” I exclaim.
I can’t believe this is happening.I slam the phone down on the counter and go into the bedroom. I try to consider what I should wear—he’s given me absolutely no idea of what we’re doing or—oh. Wait. A. Minute.
Is Colin Yarmouth coming over to havesexwith me? In the middle of the day?
Holy shit! When I said I just got out of the shower, he said that sounded like Iwasready…
I’m dying. My house smells like mixed meats and sour cream.
I run back to the kitchen and grab the Febreze from under the sink. I spray it everywhere: in the sink, on the counter, in the airspace all around me. I bring it to the living room and spray the couch, the curtains, and the carpeting. I spray the bathroom rug and the towels. I drench my rumpled, unmade bed with it and then begin pulling the sheets up and fixing the pillows, smoothing out the comforter on top. I light the three jar candles I have on my dresser—their scents all conflict (Champagne and Caviar, Summer Leaves, and Cinnamon Toast)—but it sure as hell beats “Dill meets Febreze,” which is the current aromatic name for this house.
Now, what the hell am I going to wear?I wonder. I’ve never gotten aHey, u upemail in the middle of the day. I’ve actually never had a booty call, ever. This is a real first for me. What do people wear in this kind of situation?
I empty my underwear drawer out on the bed.Goddamn it! Not a thong to be found!I have a few lacy bras, but let’s be real: am Ireallygoing to answer the door in a bra and underwear? No! I have dignity. Self-respect!
