Another laugh grips me. I nod, grinning. “I wondered that. She hasn’t replied yet. Maybe that’s why. Maybe she thinks I’m completely goddamn insane.”
“Could you blame her?” Freddie pauses. “So what made you do it?”
I clench and unclench my fists, my thoughts returning to the elevator. There’s no way I can summarize what I felt. There’s no way to explain how this feeling took hold, how fiercely the song of lust dominated me.
There’s no way to explain her, my angel, my woman, the person I’m going to be with forever.
“It just felt right,” I say quietly. “You know when you’re on the football field, about to start a play, and your mind empties? All the drilling does its work. You don’t have to think. You just do.”
“I remember that well,” Freddie says, nodding.
“It was like that.” It’s the only way I can think to explain it to my friend. “If Lena hadn’t barged into the elevator, I probably would’ve asked her out right there. It felt like the right thing to do. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
“Well, follow that instinct,” Freddie says in a reassuring tone. “And who knows? Maybe she’ll even get a smile out of you.”
I wait until Freddie and I have said goodbye before checking my phone. I know that if I check it in front of him, and she hasn’t replied, I won’t be able to hide my disappointment.
But she has. I’ve got an email.
I clench my jaw, the pressure threatening to obliterate my teeth.
My heart pounds. My body burns. My thoughts flare.
I imagine her telling me no, it’s too strange, and please not to email her again. I have to forcefully stop my thoughts right there.
I take a deep calming breath and open the message.
Dear Preston,
I hope this isn’t a joke. I hope you really ARE Preston Packer. Because my answer is yes, I’d love to. It would be a great experience for my blog. I’ll look like an idiot if this is a joke but I’m willing to take the chance.
Warmly, (the very real) Penny Harris.
I smirk at the sassiness in the email, her tone, her voice shining through.
My smirk falters when I reread the line about this being a joke. Is that what she expects out of life, douchebags joking at her expense, making her feel small, worthless?
I’d hurt any bastard who tried that.
Typing quickly, I compose my response.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Penny
Casey claps her hands together when I walk into the living room, her expression bright.
I feel myself cringing under her praise. I can’t remember the last time I dressed up.
Probably at my dad’s funeral, but I don’t think that counts.
“You look gorgeous, sis,” Casey says.
“Really?”
I’m wearing a sparkling silver dress I bought a few months ago, on a whim, dreaming up scenarios where I might have the confidence to wear it. It doesn’t show a massive amount of skin, but it’s far more form-hugging than my usual clothes, showing my imperfections.
“I don’t look ridiculous, do I?”
Casey leaps to her feet, shaking her head hard. “You look hot. I promise.”
Hot, me. The idea is difficult to accept.
Casey squeezes my shoulders. “I swear, sis. I promise you look hot as hell.”
“I still can’t believe any of this.” I drop onto the couch, glancing at the clock and seeing I’ve still got thirty minutes until he’s due to pick me up. “Part of me still thinks this is a joke. I’m going to go down there, expecting a football star, and Lena will be standing there. Ah-hah, she’ll say, like a freaking comic book villain.”
“I won’t lie,” Casey says. “It is absolutely nuts. But things like this happen. I’ve heard crazier stories about how people met their boyfriends.”
“Woah, hold on.” I laugh. “Let’s not start slinging the B-word around. This is research for my blog. He’s doing me a favor, that’s all.”
Casey knits her eyebrows. “It seems like a lot of effort to go through just to do somebody a favor.”
“He’s a charitable person,” I say fiercely, even fiercer than I did to Juliana this morning.
When Preston suggested this evening for the date, I sprang at the chance. Partly because I don’t want to wait to see him again, because there’s a physical pull inside of me, like a hook on my heart, pulling me in which direction to go. But it’s also because, if this is a joke, at least I can get it over with quickly.
“You’re not a charity case, Penny,” Casey says softly. “This is a date.”
“But he specifically mentioned Tell Me Everything. He knows about the blog. He heard me complaining that I have no real dating experience.”
Casey folds her arms, looking defeated. “Either way, I think it’s going to be a great experience.”
“I agree,” I say, though I’m not sure it’s the truth.
If it’s even Preston.
Part of me wonders if it’s all going to blow up in my face.