Page 88 of Never Been Matched
“I guess because I’m worried about what he might say.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?” She leans forward.
I swallow, letting the anxiety I’ve been shoving aside out for the first time. “He might want to end things.”
She lets out a huff. “I doubt it.”
“How do you know?”
“Did I not mention the tears?” She reaches over and pats my knee. “Kidding. I know because it’s obvious to anyone with two eyes and half a brain that Spencer is super into you and he is such a white knight there is no way he would do anything to put either you or Beverly’s estate at risk.”
That might be true, but what about himself? I guess I won’t know until I talk to him. “You’re right. Anyway, I have other things to worry about.”
“Have you gotten the next letter yet? What’s our mission, should we choose to accept it?”
“Not yet. Graham’s out of town somewhere. He’s not coming back until next month.” Which is still a couple of weeks away. “We’ve been holding off, since my letters have had due dates, and who knows what Beverly is going to have me do to the poor man next.”
“Oh, but he’s back.”
I blink. “What? He is? How do you know that?”
“Oh. Um. I saw him. At the . . . store.”
Is she blushing? “What? Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not. But now he’s here, so you can get the next letter and get one step closer to making this place officially yours.”
I bite my lip. “Yeah.”
But I don’t know if I want the next letter. Of course I want Beverly’s letters, and I’m going to have to finish my tasks eventually. But it’s going to probably lead to more forcing Graham into unwanted encounters, and I don’t want it to screw up what’s happening with Spencer. It’s still so new. We haven’t even gone on a date yet.
I want to do something about that before I have to resume my missions.
“So, forget about Graham. I have a new mission. Personal mission,” I tell Daphne. “I want to have a real date night with Spencer. Nothing crazy, just a nice dinner and a movie here. Alone. Maybe Friday? I want it to be a surprise.” That gives us a couple days. We’ll still do a Saturday show.
Daphne squints at me. “You’re going to have sex here, aren’t you?”
“Daphne!” I object. Then I think about it. “Probably.”
“Stop fidgeting. I’m going to stab you in the eye with the mascara wand,” Audrey says.
“I’m not fidgeting.”
She leans back. “You fidgeted again.”
We’re in the bathroom at the theater. Audrey helped me pick out an outfit, one of her slinky black spaghetti-string tops with a way-too-short shimmery copper skirt and sky-high black heels.
It’s a bit much, considering Spencer will likely be in jeans, but Audrey insists this outfit is “serious drip.” Also, it looks hot. I brought a change of more comfortable clothes in my overnight bag, which I left in the office.
Finally, Audrey steps back to examine her handiwork. “Perfect. He is going to lose his mind when he sees you.” She checks her watch. “Which should be any minute now.” She starts packing up her makeup bag.
I open my eyes and check myself out in the mirror. She did cat’s eye for the liner, but nothing too dramatic. My cheekbones look higher, my lips are painted a deep berry, and the eyeshadow is a warm bronze that goes well with the copper skirt and makes my eyes pop.
“Wow. You’re really good at this.”
Audrey shrugs, zipping up her bag. “I watch a lot of tutorials.”
“Hey.” I rest a hand on her arm.
