Chapter Eight
Dallas
My palms are clammy as I tug the collar of my dress shirt. I’m unsure why I decided to wear a full suit to a college party tonight. Maybe temporary insanity, but I wanted to look good for my first meeting with my dream girl.
She’s smart, funny, and kind. She has the best insights and advice, and she makes me laugh, even when I’m having a rough day. I always look forward to messaging her.
I’m standing in front of the hockey house, doubting my decision. I think the suit may be overkill. What was I thinking, dressing up as Prince Charming? She’ll probably think I’m full of myself.
“Hey! I thought we were going as rock, paper, scissors?” Trevor whines next to me in a brown, circular costume that kind of resembles poop instead of what I think should be a rock.
“I never agreed to that,” I remind him.
“Ugh, no one is going to get our costumes now,” Trevor says as Kyle comes to stand beside him in a scissor costume, and we have the same conversation again.
“Whatever, let’s go,” Trevor says, pushing me in with them.
We shuffle our way into the party. The lights are down low, and there are students everywhere with red solo cups in hand like it’s their occupation.
I get handed a drink from who knows where, and I pass it over to Trevor.
“Thanks, man. You’ll always be my favorite!” Trevor yells over the blaring music, two decibels louder than necessary.
I make my way through the living room, greeting almost every single person, but I try to minimize the chitchat, especially since it’s hard to hear anyway. Most people get the hint. After a few polite goodbyes, I arrive at the sliding doors to the balcony.
I pull out my phone: four minutes past ten.
Shit. I’m already late. What kind of first impression am I going to make?
My jaw tightens as I glance around the room to ensure the coast is clear from prying eyes, then slide the heavy door open. I step out onto the wooden balcony and notice there’s a black shadow leaning against the rails in the far corner, the lone person outside.
The weather is brisk, in the low forties, and the shadow shivers as I step closer.
Her frame is petite. I tower almost a foot over her. Her back is still facing me, curly blonde hair gently blowing in the wind.
“BBUGirl?” I ask as my heart beats through my chest. This has to be my girl, right?