The toughest two hours of my day all jam-packed into one.
Jackson had already had his interview, wasting no time to carry on about the glowing review he had received from Professor Hawthorne.
Minimal revisions and brilliant execution of citations.
All bull, if you ask me. But it would just sound like sour grapes.
I take a seat at one of the picnic tables outside, relishing the last days of nice weather for as long as I can. Lyndsey appears on the opposite side of the walking path. She’s stopping by for one last “hurrah” speech before I dive into the void.
“Are you ready?” she asks, setting down her yoga mat on the table.
“No.” I shake my head. “But does it matter anyway?”
“You’ll be fine. If Jackson can get a glowing review, then yours will be blinding!”
“I’m not sure if that metaphor tracks.”
“Stop overthinking things.” Lyndsey straddles the bench and scoots closer to me. “If you don’t get a good review, then just know that Jackson lied to save face.”
“Yes, I wish all my problems worked that way.” I laugh. “Where I could just make an excuse that fits the situation. And convince myself it’s the truth.”
“Fine.” Lyndsey throws up her hands in defeat. She’s not actually done arguing. She just likes the dramatic flair it adds when she slams down the defining argument later. “Whatever the outcome, just know we can either go party to celebrate or party to drown your sorrows.”
“I don’t want to go to a party.” The last time I went I ended up holding some girl’s drink while she made out with her boyfriend for thirty minutes. It took me fifteen minutes to realize she wasn’t planning on coming back for it and then another fifteen minutes just to figure out where to put it.
“It doesn’t have to be a party,” Lyndsey says. “We can just have a fun night out. Go into San Francisco, hit a few clubs. Get you in some fine ass dress, looking all cute. I’ll do your makeup. It’ll be good for you. You’ll love it.”
“I need a dress.”
“I have dresses. They’ll look adorable on you.”
My heart sinks at the thought of having to wear one of Lyndsey’s dresses. They look great on her, stretched out on a body that looks like it was plucked right off of a store mannequin. But I’m not Lyndsey. We may even be close in dress sizes, but my body doesn’t fill it out the same way.
I mean it’s not that I hate my body. I actually have quite a nice shape. But the skin-tight look, midriff exposed makes me feel way too self-conscious. It just isn’t me.
“Let’s just put that on hold for a minute,” I say. “I have no idea what state I’m going to be in when I get out of this meeting. It could be a rocky-road-binge kind of night, and I would just be no fun at a club.”
“Whatever, but you owe me a night out.” Lyndsey hops up from her seat and collects her things from the table. “We don’t have to go to a club. Hell, I’ll take you to a painting class.”
We laugh. I guess I could use some loosening up. I’m never going to get used to talking to men if I don’t even try to make an effort.
Lyndsey pokes my cheek playfully. Her eyes peer back at me with that all-knowing sparkle, as if she can imagine the flurry of thoughts already taking control of my mind. “You just need to get out more. Meet some hot, single man who isn’t afraid to ask you out on a date. Even when you try to skirt around his question.”
I roll my eyes. Why on earth did I tell her anything?
“It’s not-”
“Goodbye.” She pivots on her heel and sashays down the walkway toward her yoga class.
So, now I don’t even get to make excuses for the mystery man.
Zach.
My body tingles just at the thought of his name. At least now my torrid little dream sequences have some real experience to work with at night. I still feel the hard planes of his chest beneath my fingertips, the wild drumming of his heartbeat encouraging me to continue. The warmth of his arms around me, his lips at my forehead, all of it is enough to send my body shivering with ecstasy once again.
I remove the slip of paper he gave me from the pocket in my day planner.
Marianne Beaucodray. Community Outreach Coordinator.So not his personal card. Not even a man’s card. His friend is a woman. Red flag number one, I guess.