37. Bailey #2
I snatch a black button-down shirt to put over my black tee.
Liam made a point to tell me no Vans, so I grab my pink high-tops.
Liam hasn’t seen these yet so I’m looking forward to their debut.
I grab the hair pomade and run it through my locks.
Just enough work to make it look like I just rolled out of bed but might also be a model.
There’s a fine line there. It’s an art. Truly.
I walk into a spray of my favorite cologne and head out of the apartment.
I know better than to make Liam wait. God forbid a guy has to shit or anything.
He left me at a party one time because I was literally sixty seconds late getting to his car.
Sixty. Seconds. Sorry my puking schedule wasn’t penciled in correctly, your highness.
We pull up to a beautiful old home in the historic downtown district.
The gothic Queen Anne architecture distracts me completely.
Incredible. A three-story mansion with a wrap-around porch and a corner tower stands perfectly restored.
I am stunned. Silent in my reverie. My mouth is slack in disbelief as a strange sense of awe overcomes me.
A strange appreciation for the new owners having loved the old bones of the place warms me from the inside. Honoring the memories made while creating a safe space for new ones. It’s stunning. What an incredible restoration. He would love this.
Stop it, Bailey. Lolly deserves so much more than what you have to offer. Let it go.
I don’t realize I’m standing and staring until Liam slaps me on the shoulder to get my attention.
“Come on Bailey, you can’t stand here all night,” Liam laughs as he rounds the side of the vehicle. He stops in his tracks and stares at me, running his gaze from my hair down to my shoes and back up again.
“Bailey, what in fresh hell do you have on your feet? It looks like you stepped on the Easter Bunny,” he says, motioning at my shoes.
“I most literally said, in plain English, not to wear any Vans.” He crosses his arms, eyes narrowing.
“You’re notorious for an excellent first impression, you jackass.
You’re going to wish you had listened to me when you meet her and I don’t want to hear a damn word about it because I warned you. ”
“I love my Easter Bunny Vans.” I look at my shoes and say, “Don’t you listen to him, you’re perfect just the way you are. Haters gonna hate.”
Nat giggles from behind Liam, trying to stifle the laugh with her hand over her mouth.
Liam rolls his eyes before heading to the door, Nat a step behind him.
The interior is equally unique with extravagant late-nineteenth century décor.
I try not to gawk or drool. What an excellent first impression.
The guy that drooled on my antique furniture?
That one? I blush and catch up with Liam and Nat.
How does one simply walk through a room this exquisite and not take thorough inventory of everything? Send help.
The house is littered with strangers, but there is room to move, room to breathe. The air is cool and clean and soft music plays at a comfortable volume—far more tolerable than I had anticipated.
“Bailey, over here,” Liam calls. I grab a drink off the countertop and make my way across the room. “Bailey, this is Peyton. The one I’ve been telling you about,” he says, a glint of warning in his eyes as he smiles at me then back at the woman.
She’s beautiful. Oh what in the soup sandwich, I am cooked. Say something, jackass. Move. Your. Lips.
“Hi Bailey, it’s nice to finally meet you. Liam and Nat both talk about you often,” she offers with a warm smile and bright eyes.
“Um, hi,” I manage.
My right arm starts to reach out like it wants to shake her hand and then realizes this isn’t a business transaction. So awkward. Please someone save me from myself, Jesus Christ.
“Bailey,” I manage to squeak out. I catch a glance of Liam and Nat out of my periphery and my cheeks flush. “It’s nice to meet you as well,” I say.
This time, my voice wavers but at least my words are comprehensible. Progress is progress.
Fucking hell. He really could have warned me that she was maybe the hottest girl I’d ever seen. He perhaps could have told me in plain language that she’s so magnetic I might forget how to form words, nevermind complete sentences.
Thanks a lot, pal.
I’m relieved when Liam picks up the loose ends of my conversation.
Suffice to say, I do, in fact, regret wearing my Easter Bunny Vans. I’d brush an alligator’s teeth before I ever admit it to Liam, though.
I quietly watch her when I can, careful not to stare.
Her bright blue eyes dance when she laughs.
A small dimple on the left side of her mouth appears when she smiles.
Long lashes kiss her lids when she looks up to meet my eyes.
She’s beautiful—more than I could have imagined.
My brain is limited in its creative authority.
I would have sold myself short in my feeble attempt to illustrate the perfect woman, missing the mark by a longshot.
Her creator was brilliant with his brush strokes. Perfect in his symmetry.
As the minutes pass, I realize I’m not uneasy. I’m not itching to leave or watching the time tick by, waiting for an escape. Her presence has distracted me so significantly that the inherent need to seek solitude has eluded me entirely.
How is this possible? Am I drunk?
I look down at my beer, remembering opening it myself therefore ruling out any funny business. Should I worry about not being worried? Is my brain short-circuiting in real time? God, I hope I’m not being creepy watching her every move.
Joe Goldberg, much? Calm down before you scare the poor girl.
More importantly, does she know she’s out of my league or is there a chance she’s somehow miraculously unaware?
I still see her. Even when I close my eyes, she’s there.
I’m exhausted, but sleep won’t take me. Instead, I’m a captive audience of one, replaying every micro expression, every smile, every word she spoke.
I’m enamored and I should be scared but I’m not.
A sense of calm settles deep within my bones as I allow myself to imagine a world in which she would entertain someone like me.
One in which her light might eclipse his.
A world that isn’t teeming with phantom smiles, and angel wings. Brown eyes and promises.