Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OUT OF MY LEAGUE
Oh, hell. I’m in way over my head. That guy is one hundred percent man.
I’m used to boys. Who am I kidding? I’m not even used to boys.
So, yeah, I’m in way over my head. Not to mention the fact that I was practically mute the entire night.
That’s not me—I’m the chatty one. I’m the goofy one.
Something about that man makes my brain stop working and my lady parts start vibrating.
“Holy moly, the man and his damn hands.” I nearly agreed to do the deed, and I haven’t done that for…
for years. Maybe I should have done it tonight.
Perhaps it’s time to see if I can remember what it’s like to feel pleasure from a real man and not my BOB (battery-operated boyfriend). Yeah, that’d be nice.
Before I lose my nerve, I grab my ancient cell phone and send him a text.
Me: Here’s my number. Thank you for dinner, Sam. I had a lovely time.
A lovely time? Who says that stuff? “Ah yes, I had a simply delightful time when you put your hand on my boob and in my undies. Simply delightful,” I mock myself. “Idiot.”
Unknown: I had a great time, too, MacKenzie. I’ll talk to you soon.
See, that’s how you’re supposed to do it. This guy knows how to date. Jeez, he’s so out of my league. I quickly change his contact name to Mr. Three o’Clock and get ready for bed. “Oh, shit. I’d better call Lauren. She’ll kill me. I haven’t talked to her at all today.”
Crawling into my own bed, I press Lauren’s number. It’s late, but she’ll be up.
“What?” she croaks.
“Gee, hello to you, too. You cranky?”
“No. Just tired. I can’t seem to get enough sleep lately.”
Uh-oh. Pregnant?
“And before you say anything, no, I’m not pregnant.”
I giggle into the phone. “I wasn’t going to assume you were. Now, shush, I need to tell you about my date.”
“Date? You went out on a date? Not with that creepy Billy? Bobby?”
“He’s not that creepy. He’s nice. But, no, the date was with Sam.”
“Sam Stone,” she shouts into the phone. I’m forced to pull the device away from my ear.
“Shh, you’ll wake my neighbors. Yes. Sam Stone.”
“How? When? Why didn’t you call me? What did you wear? Oh, wait. I remember. I dressed you, did your makeup and hair—so you looked perfect. Continue.”
I roll my eyes and tell the story of his visit to the shop, his kiss there, and the date. I attempt to leave out the make-out session at my place, but she won’t let me.
“So, you invited him inside your place?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And he thought the place was cool.”
“Not about your house, Mac. What happened?”
I sigh into the phone and tell her about the kissing and about moving into my bedroom—about his wandering hands and about him giving me the choice whether we stopped or continued.
“You stopped, didn’t you?” she groans.
“Of course I stopped.”
“It’s been like forever for you, girl. You need to get laid. You’d be so much happier if you were getting it on the regular.”
I snort out a laugh. “Whatever.” She’s probably right, but I’m not about to tell her that.
“Next time, just rip off your clothes as soon as you walk in the door and let him have his way with you. If it gets you some man meat, then I don’t care what it sounds like.”
Man meat? Yuk. Now I’m full-on laughing. I mean, head thrown back, laughing so loud that I’m sure my upstairs neighbors can hear me. “Stop. Lauren, jeez. You sound like a raunchy romance novel. But I do have another date with him.”
“What? When?”
“Friday. He’s picking me up at work again.”
“I can’t sleep over again on Thursday, but I’ll be there at the ass crack of dawn to help you get ready. I’ll bring some clothes.”
“Lauren,” I whine. “You don’t need to do that. I can dress my damn self.”
“I know you can, honey. But let me just do this, okay? I need to be a part of this.” Now it’s Lauren who’s whining.
“Fine. Be here early Friday morning. But on that note, I’ve got to get to sleep. I’m exhausted.” The truth is, I want to be done talking about this—even with Lauren.
“Call me tomorrow. I’ll have more questions,” Lauren demands.
“Yes, ma’am. Night.”
She hangs up without another word, and I snap off my light and lay my head down.
I hope I can get to sleep. My adrenaline is going crazy.
I could read a book, but I decide to try to sleep without one.
I close my eyes and listen to the silence around me.
My neighborhood is usually pretty noisy no matter the time of day—or night, so it’s strange that it’s so quiet.
When I hear footsteps outside my window, I lift my head in an attempt to see outside.
It’s dark, so I can’t even see shadows. It’s probably just my neighbor or someone trying to cut through my yard.
“Good luck with that,” I mutter. That concrete wall back there will stop them.
I wait and listen for the footsteps to move back out toward the front, but I hear nothing.
I shrug and roll over. Time for some shut-eye.