Page 114 of So Not Meant To Be
But the confession is lost on my insecure tongue, and instead of voicing what I really want to tell her, I turn away and mumble, “What you’re wearing is fine.”
Why did I think she wasn’t going to go on that date? Maybe because the last two nights, things have almost felt like... we’ve been on dates. Yeah, I told her they were time spent with her short-term companion, but I still thought maybe she felt something, a connection.
Last night I wanted to show her a good time, I wanted to show her that we could have fun together, not just bicker. I wanted to show her I could be someone she could depend on. Someone who fulfills what she’s looking for.
The light touches.
The interesting conversation.
The self-deprecating stories.
I fucking tried last night, until Huxley called.
Fucking Huxley. I never should’ve answered the phone.
“I can’t wear this on a date,” Kelsey says as if I suggested the most preposterous thing ever. “It’s business attire.”
“Aren’t dates like business at first, though?” I ask as I finish stacking her plate with food. I don’t bother taking it over to the table, but leave it on the counter for her and head to the table with my plate.
“Uh, they aren’t for me. Not sure how you treat a date, but they’re supposed to be fun and exciting, a separate part of your day, something to look forward to. If I wear this outfit, I’ll just be reminded of work. Plus, I like wearing dresses on dates.”
She didn’t wear a dress when we went out.
Because it wasn’t afucking date, you idiot.
Could’ve been, if you were able to actually tell her how you feel.
“I don’t want to be too fancy, though,” she continues, really driving what feels like a knife into my back. I know I have no right to feel this way, but I can’t control it. All I can think about is how this girl, whom I’ve crushed on for a bit now, is going out with someone else after I’ve attempted to show her how I could be someone she might like. “Get this, you’re going to laugh.” Doubtful. “He’s taking me to the Crab House. Can you believe that?”
Yes, I can.
Because the guy seems like a douche.
Because he’s not me.
Because he doesn’t fucking know you as I do.
He doesn’t know that you need someone to push you out of your comfort zone. He doesn’t know that you’re someone who would enjoy something like a drag show but would never go yourself. He doesn’t know that you’d appreciate a quiet walk along an empty boardwalk where you can appreciate the small things like a starry sky and the sound of your feet tapping along the old wood.
“But unlike when you and I had dinner there, I can’t possibly order a whole crab, snap the leg off in front of him, and wear a bib.”
“Why the hell not?” I ask.
“Because, with you, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t trying to impress you. I don’t want Derek thinking I’m some psycho who likes mutilating sea creatures. I mean, I’m not, but let’s be honest, I was sort of putting on a show when it came to snapping those legs. I wanted to startle you.”
Mission accomplished, but I also found it endearing. I liked it.
“I think I might just get a salad,” she continues.
“That’s bullshit,” I say under my breath.
“What?” she asks as she grabs her fresh coffee, puts a dab of milk and some sugar in it, and then brings her plate and mug to the table to join me.
“I said, that’s bullshit.” My tone has an edge to it now and I can see from the way she sits back, eyes on me, that she noticed as well.
“Wait, are you mad?”
Yes.
