A process that becomes harder and harder with every passing day.
The last fifteen minutes of the appointment feel like they take forever. By the time I’m sliding my feet into my second pair of heels and taking the cash from the doctor, exhaustion weighs down my bones. All I want to do is get home and scrub the day from my skin.
“I’ll see you in two weeks?” Dr. Schafer asks with a smile. My heels that he buys for me so he can keep them afterwards dangle in his hands.
I give him a tight smile in return. “See you in two weeks, Doctor.”
I might not see you in two weeks, Doctor.
The dates that aren’t hard? The ones with Nico.
Even though our next one is a little different.
To my surprise, Nico requested an overnight date. I know he mentioned the idea briefly in the past, but I didn’t expect him to organize it through the agency. I’ve never accepted an overnight date before.
It speaks to how much I trust Nico that I agree to this one.
After our last date, there was a small part of me that worried I would regret telling him about my past. That I would realize I only blurted it out in a strained moment, and not because he actually cares.
But those feelings never came. My honesty was safe with Nico.
If Amara is confused by the overnight request—or by me accepting it—she doesn’t say anything. Ever since I changed my preferences, she hasn’t commented on my client list. She just hums and sets my schedule the way I want her to.
This week, I’m going to Philadelphia.
I catch myself randomly smiling the day of our date. I have no idea what Nico has planned, but I also realize that I don’t care. I’m just excited to be with him.
I take my time getting ready. When it takes me an extra hour to achieve the look I want, I tell myself it’s because I want to look perfect tonight, not because of the exhaustion weighing on my shoulders.
I must’ve worked out too hard this morning.
At four p.m., I walk downstairs to the Uber black Nico said he called for me. We hit traffic on the drive, of course. It doesn’t matter that it’s Tuesday night, New York doesn’t exist without traffic. The stop-and-go motion of the car makes me increasingly nauseous, which isn’t normal for me. I attribute it to the fact that I didn’t eat today in preparation for tonight.
By the time we’re pulling up in front of Nico’s building, I’m just about ready to throw myself from the car. I really hope he’s not waiting outside for me because green isnota sexy color.
But I’m not that lucky. The Uber has barely stopped when Nico is ripping the door open and extending a hand.
“Hey, Red,” he says in an excited voice. “How was the drive?”
The driver gives me an apologetic look in the mirror.
“Little bumpy,” I croak out, taking Nico’s hand.
Frowning, he looks me over. “Do you usually get car sick? I would’ve suggested the train if I knew.”
“Not usually,” I say as I sag into his embrace.
Once he’s waved off the driver, he wraps one arm securely around my waist before leading me up the steps into his building. “Can I give you anything? I think ginger helps with nausea. Or maybe just some ice water?”
“I think I just need to sit for a minute,” I groan. “I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted tonight to start. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten car sick.”
The truth is, I’ve never gotten car sick. But I don’t know what else this could be.
“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not your fault. Here, just relax.” He pushes his front door open and leads me into his home. “I’ll get you some water.”
He seats me gently on his couch, taking a second to make sure I’m comfortable before he rushes off. It gives me a chance to look around his space.
It’s neat and clean, but still looks lived-in. There are shoes scattered by the entryway and a cup or two on the kitchen island. It doesn’t look like a bachelor pad, necessarily, but it’s limited in décor. There’s nothing on the walls and clearly no thought put into the color palette, but there’s an oversized couch, a coffee table, and a big TV.
