Chapter 11 Dunch
ELEVEN
DUNCH
The Angels had car-shared to Headquarters, so once we got the addresses from Arthur’s email, we broke off to do some drive-bys and get initial impressions before we dropped Gemma and Joey back at work and went home.
Though, my team had decided to think on things and circle back later that evening after Gemma got off work and Raye, well, quit getting off, so we could give her the skinny and get her input.
That said, we all also decided there was no further time to delay, so whatever we were going to do, we were going to do it tomorrow night.
This worked for me.
I had no deliveries tomorrow. My plan was to bake the cakes I needed to decorate for my Tuesday delivery after my shift at SC, and then I was free.
Therefore, that was why it was one o’clock in the afternoon and I was standing in my clean and tidy living room, the mimosas had worn off, the big brunch I ate was wearing off, I had nothing pressing to do, and I was feeling lost.
And Gabe and I hadn’t made any plans.
For that afternoon…
Or at all.
He didn’t even mention it.
To be fair, neither had I.
And even if we were a thing, which we were (hmm), that didn’t mean we needed to spend every minute we could together.
But he’d been so in my space since he declared his intentions, and his presence was so quietly charismatic (unless he was talking, then he was verbally charismatic), it occupied everything (mostly my mind) even when he wasn’t around.
And since I’d quit fighting it, I had to face the truth that I really liked having him around.
Actually, I loved it.
Thus, not knowing when I was going to see him again made everything feel…
Empty.
I decided enough time had elapsed since the big event, thus I took out my phone and texted Raye and Cap with, So happy for you! Congratulations!!!!! and added a confetti screen effect.
If they were still celebrating, they could ignore it, but I wanted to make sure I sent it.
After I did that, I ruminated on calling Mom to have a gab and fill her in about Gabe, but I thought it was way too soon for that, so I didn’t.
But I did text her with the news about Raye and Cap, to which she texted a GIF of Cam and Gloria from Modern Family wiggling.
God, Mom was the best.
I then considered grabbing my keys and heading to Nordstrom Rack to treat myself to a new outfit or something, but since I decided to take my breather, I figured that probably wasn’t a great idea.
Then I dropped my phone and bag on the kitchen bar and wandered into the bathroom.
I turned on the light and stood in front of the mirror.
And there, I stared at myself.
I had strawberry-blonde hair that was more on the strawberry side than the blonde. It was thick. It was long. It was natural. It took beachy waves like a champ.
It was my finest asset.
I had a cute nose. Decent lips. Downturned almond eyes that were kind of a boring gray. And decent skin.
I was Harlow’s height, five ten (all the other girls were taller than us, only slightly, but still…except Gemma, who was five five).
I was far from svelte, couldn’t even be called slender. I had booty, so it was good Gabe was into that. My tits were maybe a smidge over average.
Though, even I had to admit, I gave great gam.
I’d been so busy with Willow’s Good Stuff, and Kevin’s garbage, I hadn’t really had time to hit on my signature style, even if I loved clothes.
I wasn’t casual with a hint of boho-edge and the ability to class it up, like Raye. Or full boho like Luna. Or minimalist, like Jess. Or romantic and girlie, like Harlow. Or the cottagecore/girl-next-door thing Gemma had going on. Or the edgy gig that Joey was into.
And I certainly didn’t have time to create my own unique brand of chic, like Shanti’s edgy/earthy/cultural/glam/street style.
Half the time I didn’t know what I was putting on, except it was comfy, and I felt okay in it.
I mean, I was pretty, but I wasn’t a knockout.
I had an okay body, but I wasn’t a bombshell.
“What the fuck does he see in me?” I asked my reflection.
Oh boy, here we go, Dreamer moaned.
Good afternoon, you stupid bimbo, this is your actual logic speaking. Cut the crap and text him, or better yet just call him, Real Logic ordered.
Earlier, she was worried he was over it just because she thinks he thinks he bested the challenge, Dreamer told Real Logic.
I heard. I wish she’d let me take over the next time we talk to him. I’d verbally slap that bio dad of hers upside the head for the damage he’s done. What a douche, Real Logic replied.
Right? Dreamer agreed.
Oh God, Pessimism was gone, and now I had Real Logic, and I wasn’t sure that was much better.
What I was sure of was that I was being an idiot.
So I left the bathroom. Turned off the light. Hit my phone. Threw myself on my couch.
And I decided on, Do you know how to pick a lock without looking like you’re picking a lock? as my text to Gabe.
I was contemplating making a sandwich. Or doing it up with my own personal charcuterie board. Or allowing myself to be a little less responsible and treat myself to a new pair of flip-flops (or something) when my next text occurred to me.
And do you have any stuff to make a disguise? Like a fake moustache? I asked him.
After deliberating about maybe cueing up a movie, or diving into a juicy documentary, doing a not-fussed scroll through what was streaming and finding nothing that struck my fancy (I wasn’t going to watch more Shetland without Gabe, even if he’d already seen it), I lugged myself out of the couch.
I was standing in my open refrigerator trying to decide on snack or actual meal, at the same time thinking I might want to take a hot bath, at the same time wondering if Alexis was over the emotional ambush of yesterday and wanted to chat cakes, at the same time trying not to panic that some time had passed and Gabe didn’t text back, when there were two sharp raps on my door.
No “It’s me.”
But the locks went, and Gabe was there.
I stood unmoving as he prowled to me, grabbing my bag from the kitchen bar while he did.
He shut the refrigerator door and shoved my purse at me. After I took it, he claimed my hand and hauled me out of the kitchen to the couch, where I’d left my phone.
He picked up my phone, handed it to me, then tugged me out the door.
He stopped us and locked up.
Then he dragged me down the walk, out the security gate to his Wrangler.
I was sitting in it, and he was switching on the ignition, when I found my voice.
“Well, hello to you too.”
“We’re going to dunch,” he stated, pulling out.
“Dunch?”
“Dinner and lunch. Then we’re chilling at mine.”
Yippee!
I got to see his place!
That said…
“I’m not sure I’m prepared for our first, out-in-public, official date,” I declared. “I’d want to put on a different outfit.”
Though, what I would wear, I had no clue.
However, it would be something other than the mid-rise baggy jeans I had on with a simple, slim-fit white tee with a small pink and yellow gerbera daisy on the chest and white with pink stripe Adidas Samba sneaks.
However, I could not deny what I had on went well with his super-casual black tee that shared in white letters that Monument, Colorado was established in 1879, uber-faded jeans (particularly at the crotch, mmm) and beat-up, black-swoop Nike Killshots.
“We’re not dating. We’re together.”
At this declaration, in slow motion, I turned my head to Gabe.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“This isn’t a date. This is a man taking his woman to dunch.”
Wait.
What?
“When did I become your woman?”
“Did you sleep beside me last night?”
“Well…”
“And the night before?”
“I was—”
“And the night before that?”
Jeez.
“That isn’t—”
He changed subjects. “Whose house are you breaking into?”
Uh-oh.
It was half joke, half not when I asked, “Can I plead the fifth?”
“Cupcake, you asked me if I knew how to pick a lock.”
“Okay, do you?”
“Of course. Though, I’ll point out, no matter how good your intentions are, there is no way to break and enter where it isn’t a felony.”
And he’d know, with a master’s in criminal justice and all the rest.
Eek!
He kept going.
“But in your situation, you got a man on your hands who’s so fuckin’ jumpy, he hauls ass the minute he sees some headlights and doesn’t even finish sharing what he apparently risked his friend’s safety to share because he’s shit-scared someone is watching him.
To end, you do not need to be seen breaking into his place. ”
I wished I was assigned Amy’s place so I could say I wasn’t breaking into Duane’s.
Though, I didn’t think Gabe would react better to that news.
“That’s where the disguise comes in,” I told him haughtily. “Now, can we go back to the discussion about me being your woman?”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
Had he lost his mind?
“Gabe, last night, I stood in front of you telling you all the reasons we couldn’t do this.”
“And then you took my hand, and we walked together to your bedroom. We slept together in that bedroom. We woke up together in that bedroom. We went to brunch together with your best bud. And all of that was after you made me a cupcake and bought me more beer.”
It was so gross when he made sense, even twisted sense.
And even grosser when he called me on my shit.
Boy, it seemed I was always going to rue the day I made that cupcake and bought him more beer.
“All right, all right,” I snapped. “I hear you. But we’re missing one crucial element that makes a man and a woman a woman’s man and a man’s woman.”
“That is?”
I pointed out the obvious. “Dude, we haven’t had sex.”
“And?”
And?
“And what if we suck at it?”
He was silent for a very long, tense moment, then he grinned wide and white at his windshield.
Ulk.
That was super-hot and uber-annoying at the same time.
As per protocol, I focused on the annoying.
“So you’re that good,” I snapped.
“Yeah, cupcake, I’m that good,” he said without hesitation, and with such lethal confidence, I one hundred percent had a mini orgasm.
Right then.
Time to get to the meat of the matter.