Page 19 of Personal Foul
“I’m sure we will.” I muster up enough sincerity to sound convincing. “It’s not that I want Dylan all to myself”—gag me—“I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”
She looks me over. “You have been pretty busy lately. Is your class load really tough this semester?”
Yawning, I shake my head. “No. I’ve just been working more lately.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “I know how that goes. Saving up for something cool? Or did your car have problems that you have to pay off?”
“Oh, uh”—crap, I usually have a better excuse at the ready—“No. My car’s fine. I’m, um, hoping to take a trip this summer.”
She nods her head toward the bathroom, and I follow her so we can talk while she finishes her makeup. “Where are you going? Anywhere fun?” She pulls the eyeliner pencil away from her eye and looks at me. “Oh! Are you and Dylan planning something together?”
I can’t help laughing. “God, no. I mean, no. It’s too early for anything like that. I’m still looking at all my options. It depends on how much I can save between now and then.” I’m warming to the lie, like I’m actually thinking about this trip. “It’ll be somewhere I can drive to, though. Maybe Canada? Or the coast somewhere?”
“Fun!” She leans closer to the mirror again and applies her eyeliner before putting on two coats of mascara. “Let me know if you want company.” She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Assuming you don’t end up with a better offer by then.”
Shaking my head, I grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She finishes off with a red lipstick and pops the cap back on, keeping the tube in her hand so she can bring it with her. “Alright. Your turn!”
I step out of the doorway so she can exit, then move in. “I gotta pee,” I tell her, using the excuse to close the door. I need a minute to gather myself, and I don’t need Isabelle wondering why I’m so glum about this double date. My excuse that I’m tired from working extra will only go so far.
After using the toilet, I stare at myself in the mirror while washing my hands. I have to wear a reasonable amount of makeup. This is a date, after all.
I take my time getting myself ready, then decide on a half up, half down look for my hair, pulling a couple of strands free and curling them to frame my face. Last, I add the necklace my mom gave me before I started my freshman year of college. It’s a simple oval pendant of green stone set in silver that she got from a local artisan. It’s my favorite color, and I love it. Wearing it makes me feel loved and supported, and I always put it on when I need an extra dose of luck or strength. And I definitely need that tonight.
Taking a deep breath, I give myself a mental pep talk in the mirror.Okay. You can do this. You’ve spent time with him every day for over a week now. You can spend a few hours and pretend like you don’t want to murder him. You’ve managed to control your face before when faced with people you don’t like. You did it all through high school. You’re out of practice, sure, but you can do it again. It’ll be like riding a bike. It’ll be tough at first, but you’ll get the hang of it again in no time.
My pep talk doesn’t do much to calm my racing heart or the roiling in my stomach, but it’s the best I can do for now. I check the time on my phone just as Isabelle knocks on the door. “You okay in there? We need to get going or we’re going to be late.” We’re driving together and meeting the guys at the restaurant.
Opening the door, I give her a sly look. “Don’t you know that a lady is never late? She always arrives precisely when she means to.”
Isabelle looks doubtful. “I’m pretty sure that’s wizards.”
Shrugging, I step out of the bathroom. “Same thing, right? And anyway, letting them wait a few minutes will help build anticipation.” And it will shorten the amount of time I have to spend with Dylan. Or at least delay it.
“Oooh, good point.” Isabelle calmly gathers her coat and purse before slipping on her heeled ankle boots.
But her patience quickly runs out, and she stomps her foot and gives a little impatient shake. “Come on, Charity,” she whines. “You know I’ve been dying to go out with Andrew for ages. Quit stalling.”
With a grin, I zip up my own knee-high boots. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” And my ability to stall is officially at an end. I put on my moto jacket and settle my purse on my shoulder, grabbing my keys from the hook by the door. “Ready?”
“God, yes. I’ll drive.” Isabelle’s out the door before I can react, and I follow her with a laugh, locking the door behind me.
Dylan and Andrew are waiting at the restaurant when we get there, loitering by the hostess stand. Dylan picked the restaurant. It’s a gastropub with thick, rustic looking tables made from weathered recycled barn wood with upholstered cafe chairs. It’s nice, but not overly fancy. And I’m glad I went for my faux leather leggings and an off the shoulder sweater instead of a dress. I still look cute and date worthy, but fit in better at a place like this.
Isabelle’s in cuffed jeans and a silky tunic top with some chunky jewelry to accessorize. Her favorite thing is to upcycle thrift store finds and transform them into unique pieces. She’s done a couple of things for me, too, and in my opinion they’re better than the high-end designer clothes the people in Dylan’s set favor.
Dylan looks me up and down when we walk in, his lips pulling to one side in a smirk.
God, what a dick.
To everyone else, I’m sure it looks like an appreciative look for his date. But I know the truth. I know he thinks I dress like shit. I’m not up to his high-brow standards. Even if I think I look cute, I’ll never really fit into his world.
Which is fine. I don’t want to. I’m happy being me and having friends and not needing to impress everyone with my fancy clothes and expensive vacations and snobby attitude.
At my narrowed eyes, his smirk turns into a full-blown grin. He crosses to me and puts his arm around my waist, pulling me close. “Hey, babe.” He lowers his voice and brings his lips to my ear. “What’s with the face? I thought we agreed you were going to pretend to be happy to see me.”
I relax my eyes and force a smile, turning it on him. “Better?” I ask through my clenched teeth.
