Page 17 of When the Walls Come Down
I’d debated everything from dresses to sweats, but without the first clue of where Shane was taking me, it was like getting dressed in the dark. My latest ensemble was made up of tight skinny jeans, cropped at the ankle, and capped off by a pair of strappy black heels. San Francisco nights could get chilly even in July, so I’d paired them with a black sweater that hung off one shoulder. It wasn’t quite the swell of cleavage I’d been showing the night we’d met, but with the right chandelier earrings, it was casual but dressy enough in case Shane pulled out a few stops.
I still hadn’t gotten over the fact that he lived next door. I mean, what were the chances?
They were probably about the same as the chance of me meeting a guy with a sharp wit and biceps to match the very first time I left my apartment. Between stressing about this date and, well…more stressing about this date, I’d run out and bought a lottery ticket on the off-chance my streak would continue.
I only won another ticket. Go figure.
One more turn, and I nodded to myself in the mirror. This one would work. My feet would be killing me by the end of the night, but the shoes made my ass look incredible, so I’d make the sacrifice.
My phone pinged with an incoming text in the bathroom, and I scrunched my blond curls as I walked over to grab it. My bet was on Heath. We hadn’t talked in a solid forty-five minutes. He had to be losing his mind with worry.
A smile broke across my face when I saw his name on the notification bubble.Shane: So, bad news. My truck is in the shop. Any chance you can pick me up?I bit the inside of my cheek, but it did nothing to keep my smile from spreading. A truck man, huh? Heath would be proud.Me: Ah, that is bad news. Maybe we should just cancel. I’ve been dreading this all day anyway.Shane: Oh, good. We got that one joke of yours for the night out of the way early.Me: Think we can do the same with your small talk?Shane: Not likely. See ya in ten.Ten? My eyes darted to the clock in the top corner of my phone. Shit. Where the hell had the time gone? Opting to finish getting ready rather than verbally spar with him, I dropped my phone on the bathroom counter and got busy finishing my eye makeup. Nine minutes later, it looked like Sephora had vomited in my bathroom, but I was dressed, my hair was somewhat manageable, and I had a whole sixty seconds to spare before I was supposed to pick up my “date.”
Yes. I thought in air quotes.
Nerves rolled in my stomach. What the hell was I doing? It had been forever since I’d been out on a date. Well, that was not totally true. It had been about six months since one of the bartenders from work had set me up with his little brother. He was five foot three and asked which one of us would be paying for the appetizer as he used a calculator to split our bill at the end of dinner.
Spoiler alert: I paid.
This was different though. And not because Shane was tall enough to ride a Ferris wheel. I was just excited to see him again. I had no idea what he had in store for us this evening, but for all I cared, we could have ended up back on those stools at Two Ships, drinking and laughing, and it would have been the best date I’d ever been on.
Drawing in a deep breath, I tugged at the shoulder of my sweater for maximum exposure.
Then I did it again.
And again.
And once more for good measure.
Before I could follow through on the urge for a last-minute wardrobe change, I planted my sunglasses into the pile of curls on the top of my head, turned the bathroom light off, and headed out.
With my clutch tucked under one arm, I fought with the lock on my front door. The key was impossible to turn, and for over two grand a month, the damn thing should have been voice activated. Making a mental note to get maintenance up there to look at it, I turned and walked all six of the steps required to get to Shane’s door.
It wasn’t until then that I contemplated what a bad fucking idea dating my neighbor could be. If this didn’t work out, I’d be stuck seeing him everywhere I went. Bumping into him in the hallway or at the mailboxes. With my luck, it wouldn’t matter when or how often I went to the pool; he’d always be there and the only available chair would inevitably be right smack next to his.
