7. FaceTime etiquette is also a real thing
7
FACETIME ETIQUETTE IS ALSO A REAL THING
I practically bounce around the apartment, waiting for Will’s reply. Ginger lifts her head with bleary eyes to shoot me an annoyed look from where she lies on the reading chair. After terrifying me with her deathly stare, she covers her face with her large paws and goes back to ignoring me during her post-dinner food coma.
But even Ginger’s quiet threats can’t lessen the excitement within me, because I finally earned Lena’s trust, and with it comes even more responsibility—something I’ve been chomping at the bit for. And now that we’ve mapped out my career path a bit, spoken about what’s next, and clarified how much more involved in the process I’ll be, I can’t wait to get started.
Lena giving me a shot? Letting me have more of a say and giving me some discretion when it comes to our projects? Unimaginable, but there it is. Sure, I won’t be running my own accounts any time soon, but this is still a big step—and one in the right direction.
Today was epic.
As soon as Lena gave me the news and I left her office, my hands reached for my phone, itching to text Will. Even though things have been weird between us, going to Molly with this before him felt weird for some reason. Like despite it all, despite how out of hand things got last night, he was still the one person I wanted to tell as soon as it happened.
Will
Did you find a new vintage store in your neighborhood that’s full of seventies jumpsuits and wrap dresses or something?
I snort and bite my lip, trying to suppress a smile because he remembers my obsession with vintage clothing, teases me about it (but in a nice way), and sends me recommendations for the best shops all over the North East (which I’ve already earmarked for future shopping sprees the second I have some expendable income). Thanks to him, I’ve already purchased and revamped three incredible pieces from the seventies to add to my collection.
Bridget
No, unfortunately, I have not seen any new seventies Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dresses down at my favorite thrift store.
But it’s big. Can I call you?
Within seconds, I receive a request for a FaceTime call.
“ FACETIME?! Ginger, is this guy insane?” I look desperately at my cat, who continues ignoring me.
While the phone continues to ring, I run to the bathroom to check myself in the mirror and squeak in horror. There is no way I’m going to let him—or anyone else, for that matter—see me like this. Rumpled red hair in a high bun, no makeup, straight from the shower, and a (albeit cute) baby blue sweat set is not an acceptable look when letting your texting crush see you for the first time ever— especially not after what we did last night. So I reject the call because what the hell is he thinking , really.
Will
Um. Why’d you hang up?
Bridget
You can’t just spring a FaceTime on someone without warning! It’s bad communication etiquette!
Will
I don’t think you’re exactly in a position to lecture me on communication etiquette. Should I remind you how we met?
Bridget
Ha. You’re hilarious.
Seriously, Will. I just got home from work and am not exactly in a presentable state.
Will
Lol I’m sure you look amazing and have nothing to worry about.
Bridget
How would you know? You’ve never seen me!
Will
Exactly. So what would I compare it to? Come on. We’ve texted long enough. Do you not feel comfortable with me or something? I just really want to see you.
An ache builds beneath my ribs as I reread his words, processing them.
Bridget
You do?
Will
Of course I do. Don’t you want to see me?
He really wants to see me?
I really want to see him, too. So much it hurts.
Bridget
What about yesterday?
Three dots pop on my phone screen and promptly disappear. A few seconds later, they’re back before disappearing once more. It takes a couple of minutes, but he finally replies:
Will
Why don’t we put a pin in what happened last night so we can talk about your good news.
That’s more important.
A slow smile spreads across my face after a quiet sigh.
Safe. I feel safe.
Bridget
Will you at least give me five minutes to brush my hair and make myself look presentable?
Will
Two minutes, though I’m sure you don’t need it, and I certainly don’t care what you look like. ;)
I run over to my bathroom and splash cold water on my face, gently patting it dry. With no makeup, my freckles stand out—but I don’t mind. Growing up, I used to hate them. As an adult, I’ve grown to love them and see them as something that sets me apart, that makes me unique.
With impressive speed, I pull my hair out of the satin scrunchie it was in and brush it until it looks perfectly detangled and soft down to my waist. Exhaling once, I look at myself in the mirror with a determined expression, and whisper, “You’ve got this. It’s just a phone call. Just a video call with a man you’ve never seen though you’ve been crushing on him for weeks.”
I settle into the center of my bed under my favorite teal, cozy blanket, fluff my pillows behind me, and, with a deep breath, click the FaceTime video call button on his contact profile.
It barely rings before the call is accepted, and I’m rendered speechless by the most handsome, sexy man in the world when he pops on screen. For a second, I swear I’m hallucinating because there is no way that the man I’ve been texting for weeks, the man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, looks like a hotter version of Theo James. I’m not that lucky. And who even thought that could be possible? With high cheekbones and a perfect bone structure that rivals Ancient Greek sculptures, lips that look soft and demanding at the same time, dark, curly hair begging to have my fingers tangled in them, and brown, smoldering eyes that feel like they can read my soul in a split second, Will knocks the wind out of me.
Holy shit .
Suddenly, I want to curse myself out for not listening to my gut instincts, for not putting on normal clothes and at least adding a bit of foundation to cover up the insane blush creeping up my neck and face. The side effect of being a redhead, no emotion goes hidden—and I think the extreme blush I feel heating every inch of my skin is very clearly revealing my thoughts: Damn, he’s hot . More than I can handle, I think. So much so that it takes me a minute to process his shocked face before it morphs into the most heartbreaking, face-splitting smile.
“Hey, Bridge,” he breathes.
His voice…
And I am officially a goner.
“You’re…” Will swallows once on the other end of the line. “You don’t look the way I imagined.”
His voice . God, his voice.
I bite back a moan because something about it, something about its depth and tone, has me suspecting things about how he is in bed. I hate that it’s the first thing I think about, but I can’t help the immediate attraction.
“You imagined what I looked like?” I ask in a small voice, which is, admittedly, dumber than any question anyone has ever asked ever. It would be odd to be talking to someone for just over a month without imagining at least once what they looked like. It would be especially odd to sext with someone, say you imagined eating them out on all fours, without having once thought about it. Even if Will had thought about me only a fraction of the times I’ve thought about him, he must’ve wondered about my physical appearance.
“I…” Will hesitates. “Kind of? I don’t…” He bites the inside of his mouth and runs a hand through his hair, unable to meet my eye.
“Are you… nervous ?” I try not to tease him. To be honest, though, there’s no denying I’m genuinely shocked a man who looks like that would ever?—
“ Oh . Now I get it.” I nod, somber. I’ve never been too concerned by what my body looks like. No, I’ve been much too focused on fashion and clothes my entire life for that. Pulling an entire outfit together that was able to express how I feel or who I am in that moment is what I think of when getting ready in the morning. Besides my initial aversion to my freckles when I was younger, I didn’t concern myself with what my body looked like (I had much bigger problems to contend with for that). Tonight, though, for the first time ever, I feel the most self-conscious I ever have in my life. It’s odd, this feeling, going from extremely comfortable with who I am with Will to almost afraid to show myself on camera. And I know why.
“You’re… You’re disappointed.” I wince as the other shoe drops, as I realize I actually said that out loud. I mean, it’s evident that he is, but I shouldn’t have put him on the spot like that.
Horrified, Will brings his phone closer to his face. “What? No. No . That’s not what I meant. How can you even say that? I just… I don’t know what I imagined when I thought of you, but you were never…” The way he sputters his words, the anxiety clear on his face, is what causes me to take pity on him.
So he doesn’t find me attractive. So what? That’s not what this was, anyway. Right? Not necessarily. At least I made a friend. At least now I know that this weird relationship I’d been in with my work pen pal can progress through the friendship route. And I wouldn’t mind having another friend, I guess. It’s not like I have many these days.
“A redhead. You never imagined me as a redhead,” I say, cutting him off while trying to hide my disappointment.
Relieved I gave him an out, Will nods. “Right. That’s what I meant. I never imagined you as a redhead.”
And maybe there’s some truth to that, too. A lot of guys aren’t into redheads.
An awkward silence falls between us when I can’t bear to look at the screen. I can feel his eyes on me, though, traveling over my face as he examines every inch.
This is dumb , I think, regretting ever wanting to make this call. I was happy to have a confidant, someone who understood me. And now I’ve gone and ruined it all by making it awkward and agreeing to something as trivial, yet gargantuan, as seeing each other—even if it’s just over a video call.
It’s not like Will won’t talk to me again after this. No, I know him well enough (even if we’ve only been talking for just over a month) to be certain he would never do something like that. But it’s the disappointment that I find him devastatingly attractive, and he so clearly doesn’t like me back—the letdown that I cared so much in the first place—and the fear that the relationship we developed might change after Will and I have become so close that gets to me.
But he knows me. He knows me, and I know him. And right now, we’re putting a pin on what happened last night, not letting it ruin what was a great day at work for me.
At least we got it out of the way , I think. At least this way it’s done and I don’t need to wonder anymore.
“So,” he starts, his grin making me melt deep into my sheets, every joint in my body coming loose. “Tell me about this great day that you had.”