Hard.
And that’s okay…
For now.
Kass: Help. Help. Help.
Willy Wonka: What?
Kass: I managed to sneak away to the bathroom before dessert. I’m going to need you to call me in 5 minutes like we talked about.
Willy Wonka: About that. I think I underestimated the value of my services as a date crasher.
Kass: Willll!
Willy Wonka: Think about it. I have to stop what I’m doing in five minutes entirely for your benefit. What do I get out of it?
Kass: For fuck’s sake. What do you want?
Willy Wonka: Nothing for now but I’ll get back to you.
Kass: I hate you so much right now.
Willy Wonka: You can always drop my services and go back to your date.
Kass: He’s been talking about his autographed baseballs collection for two hours. TWO HOURS.
Willy Wonka: Aww. He’s just trying to impress you.
Kass: And failing. Are you in or out?
Willy Wonka: If I do this for you, you owe me a favor. Whenever, however and wherever I want.
Kass: How about a blowjob with that?
Willy Wonka: I mean… if you’re offering
Remind me again why I’m friends with this guy?
Kass: That’s it. I’m blocking your number.
Willy Wonka: Talk to you in 5.
Annoyed, I stomp out of the bathroom stall I’ve been holed up in for seven minutes now. What the hell was I thinking going on a date with some guy I met at work? He was cute, and when he swung by the counter to ask me out, I thought, “What’s the harm?” But now, I’m calling my reasons into question.
Why did I say yes?
To forget Will? To convince myself I don’t have a crush on him? That I never did? Didn’t I learn my lesson stringing Luke along?
It’s been a few day
s since he kissed me. As suspected, things went right back to normal. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that night was all in my head and nothing ever happened. We’ve been texting constantly, which doesn’t exactly make getting over my dumb crush easier. I’ve never texted anyone as much as I’m texting this guy in my entire life. You’d think it’s a good sign. And it would be.
With literally any guy on earth but Will.
I’m starting to put together a clear picture of who he is. To him, shit like that doesn’t mean anything. Or if it does, he doesn’t let himself look too far into it. All he knows is he likes talking to me.
So he does.