After I feel loose and ready, I head out, hitting the pavement with a slow, steady pace, increasing my speed to hit my seven-minute mile mark.
Tingling takes over my limbs as the high sets in faster than normal thanks to the absence of alcohol last night. When my turn in the road comes, my euphoria is stronger than ever so I continue straight, making the run twice as long.
My head clears and every thought of these last few months with Travis fade away. I need to forget about him and move on.
My phone dings with a text just as I walk in my place. Reaching for the water bottle I left on the counter, I toss my head back, drinking down the entire bottle while grabbing my phone with my other hand.
Water almost flies out of my mouth when I see the message from a number I don’t recognize:
Since we’re not going to date, I guess I don’t have to play the wait to call game. So how about we hang out tonight? Dancing again?
It has to be Alex but I’m surprised by the 707 area code. Since we met in Sacramento, I figured he was from the 916. I respond:
707? Where do you live?
Doesn’t matter. We’re not going to date remember?
I nod my head, liking his direction with this. No details, just dancing. That I can do.
Fine. Name the place I’ll meet you there.
Meet me at Journey Coffee in Alamo Plaza.
Wait. In Vacaville? How did you know I was in Vacaville?
Does it matter?
Um. Yes. Stalker much?
No stalker. I promise.
Then how did you know? We met in Sacramento.
Your friend told me.
Ok. Then Journey it is. Time?
9. See you then.
I don’t respond since I’m not sure what to feel or say. It’s not a date, but I had fun last night. I’m totally up for another night where I can dance my thoughts away.
* * *
At 8:45, I pull up to Alamo Plaza. My training has ingrained in me to be early, even in my personal life. I’m surprised to look up and see Alex standing in front of my car with a smirk displayed prominently on his handsome face.
His hair is a little messier than it was last night and he’s more casually dressed in jeans and a DC t-shirt. I didn’t take him for the skater type but his Nike Janoski shoes tell another story.
His eyes take me in, stopping me in my tracks. Last night they were clear, but tonight they’re dark and emboldening, almost dangerous.
The club was dark last night and now the light shines perfectly on his face so I can see every sharp detail of his jaw. Him not shaving shows with his five o’clock shadow—more like a two-day shadow—making me want to reach up and run my fingers over it.
A small smile creeps up my face before I look down, shaking my head and thanking the sky above I’m not near him so he didn’t see the temptation.
He’s such a stark difference to the stuck-up, pretentious men I’ve dated who only care about rank andwhatthey are rather thanwhothey are.
This is not a date, I tell myself over and over again.
“Well, look at you showing up early,” I offer in greeting as I get out of the car.
