Page 45 of No One Else
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IWALK INTO MARKETINGa week later, finally free of the Cold From Hell, and set my backpack down on our shared table.
Natalie looks up at me, a grin spreading over her face. “You’re alive.”
“Thanks to your expert nursing.” I return her smile, relieved at her aura of happiness. I was unsure what my reception would be today, now that my lie has been exposed. It seems she hasn’t changed her mind since the last time I saw her, though. We’ve been texting, when I wasn’t dying of racking coughs and sharp knives in my throat, but I was afraid things might be different in person.
“I hope my calling out of work didn’t cause too much trouble.” The brunt of it would have fallen on her to work her magic and reschedule everyone.
“I got it all taken care of. All your clients were either covered by another trainer or moved to one of your free time slots this week.”
“I appreciate it,” I tell her, pulling out my chair and sitting down.
“Hey, it was the least I could do after you volunteered to help kiss a bunch of strangers and then got sick from one of them.” She puts her hand against the side of her mouth and says in a stage whisper, “I blame the Harry Potter girl.”
I grin at her, noticing Dr. Kaufman stride into the room out of the corner of my eye, his three-piece suit and leather briefcase as sharp as ever. Crap, I only have a minute more at most to talk then.
I clear my throat, some kind of residual frog in there. Not from sickness this time, but nervousness. “I’d still like to thank you. And for taking care of me when I was sick. How about I take you out to dinner tonight?” I surreptitiously run my palms down my jeans under the table, praying she can’t sense how sweaty they are.
“Like two friends or like a... date?”
“Whichever you want it to be.”
“Okay,” she says shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d like that.”
“Good afternoon,” Dr. Kaufman booms, making both of us startle. “Let’s get started with today’s topics.”
We both turn forward, and I let loose the goofy smile that’s been threatening to take over my face.
All throughout class I’m aware of her, even more so than usual. Every time she shifts in her seat, writes something down in her notebook, taps her pen against the table offhandedly. My senses are attuned to each minute thing happening just a foot to the left of me.
The end can’t come soon enough and when he dismisses us, a weight is lifted. Another immediately takes its place, though, as I realize now I have to get through tonight.
A first date.
That can make or break a relationship, right?
“I’ll pick you up around six at your dorm?” I ask, zipping up my backpack and settling it over my shoulder.
“Sounds great,” she says, a smile lighting up her face. I can’t return it, though. I need to get out of here before I somehow mess it up. Before she decides it was a terrible idea to agree.
I leave her there and book it to my car, driving home in a daze, alternately ecstatic that she agreed to a date and then overwhelmed with foreboding that I’ll fuck it all up.
I give myself a pep talk in the shower, psyching myself up pretty good, but Dad ruins it before I take off, reminding me what a big deal this is. How long I’ve waited for this.
Thanks, Dad. None of that crossed my mind already.
She meets me at the entrance to her dorm since I don’t have a keycard to get in, and I’m struck speechless for a second. Her long hair is down around her shoulders, draping over the tops of her breasts. I’ve only seen it loose from her standard ponytail a handful of times, including that day in her room when I brushed it out for her. The chocolate brown strands shine in the fading sunlight, making me want to reach out and run my fingers through it.
Add to that a navy dress that hugs her toned figure and the sultry gleam in her eye, and I’m a goner. “You look... incredible,” I murmur, pausing to look my fill. She does a slow spin for me, a smile lurking around her lips.
I realized on the way over here she never clarified earlier whether this was two friends going out to eat or a date, but her actions now make it fairly clear.
“You clean up pretty good yourself,” she says, briefly running her hands over my gray button-down shirt. “I love it when guys roll up the sleeves on their forearms like this,” she whispers.
I’ll buy a whole wardrobe of these shirts if it has her looking at me like that. Since I’m at the gym most days of the week, I mostly wear athletic-type stuff, but maybe I need to start branching out more.
We walk the short distance over to the parking lot and I open the passenger side door for her, noting how the hem of her dress rides up as she climbs into the Bronco. I swallow, my gaze lingering on her legs, and shut the door before she notices.
