Me: But I didn’t put your name on it or anything.
Caroline: No worries. I had my assistant do it. Thanks again. Gotta go.
Me: One sec. Are we on for Friday?
Caroline: Yes. Meet at my place at 6?
Me: Perfect. See you then.
The week flies by. I get a message on Wednesday from my mom saying she needs to borrow some money. I send her some, but my savings account is starting to dwindle, and the urgency to acquire more clients is building.
I’m just thinking about this as I’m on my way to Caroline’s to pick her up so we can shop and get a bite. I have a hard time finding parking, so I circle the block three times and finally decide to park two blocks away. It’s ten after six and I’m jogging toward her condo, a little worried that she’ll be upset I’m late. I put the code in, enter the gate, and when I get to the stoop, I’m surprised to find Blake sitting on the top step.
“Hey, you,” he says.
“What are you doing here?”
“My girlfriend lives here.” He smirks.
“Hah. I know that. She’s not here?”
“Not yet. I tried texting her just now. We have a date but she’s running late. Are you dropping something off?”
Looks like Caroline overbooked. “Actually, Caroline and I have a date as well,” I say.
He scowls. “Really?” He looks genuinely upset.
“Don’t worry. We can totally go another time. She was probably just busy when we booked it.”
He stands up and reaches high on the ledge above us where his phone is sitting. I notice a few things when he does this. Blake is wearing the belt and buckle on his low-slung black jeans. His arms are covered in tattoos, disappearing into his white t-shirt sleeves, and at this very moment I can see the definition in his stomach. My eyes follow his happy trail, and, naturally, I realize I’m smiling to myself while essentially staring at his crotch.
When I look up he’s smiling back at me. “My eyes are up here.” He points.
Oh, my god, I’m a terrible person. I’m very obviously objectifying this man with my eyes.
“Oh…oh, I just noticed you wearing the buckle Caroline bought for you.”
He laughs. “I love it. Thank you, Hayden.”
“What? What do you mean?” My nerves are swirling furiously in my stomach.
“I pried it out of her. I can’t believe you make these belts. They’re amazing and the buckle couldn’t have been more perfect.”
How do I get out of this one? “It’s what I do, you know? I just thought it matched your style.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything else about it.
“I didn’t realize you had so many tattoos,” I say.
“Oh yeah, I got a lot of them in art school. This is my favorite, though.” He points to the bottom of his bicep where the name GENEVIEVE is written in wispy script.
“Genevieve?” I ask.
“My mama, Genevieve,” he says, pronouncing both “mama” and her name in the French way. He smiles.
“That’s sweet.” I’m still staring at his bicep. “We should call Caroline and let her know that I’m gonna take off.”
“Yeah, give me a sec. I’ll try the office.”
