KORIE
Istand in front of my closet way too long for someone who supposedly doesn’t care what they wear.
The hangers scrape softly as I shove clothes back and forth, staring without really seeing. Black button-up. Gray Henley. Cream dress blouse. Jeans. Cargo pants. The green skirt shoved half behind a hoodie like it’s hiding from me too.
Fuck.
It’s just dinner!
Except it’s not. It’s a fucking date.
I just had to open my mouth to ask, didn’t I? I couldn’t let it be us hanging out. No. My stupid, traitorous, confused heart leapt at the chance to get a peek into Holden’s head—and he hadn’t even hesitated! He just… dove right in. Yup, it’s a date.
Holden has sent me three restaurant options as a tease, not telling me where we’re actually going. I would’ve found it funny if my nervous system wasn’t such a fucking mess.
What is my deal? I love going out to eat. I do. It’s been my thing since… well, forever. And I especially love going out with Holden. So why am I freaking out?
Because it’s not the date, exactly. It’s… everything else.
It’s me.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I exhale hard through my nose. I can do this.
My fingers brush over a fitted burgundy top that Holden’s eyes went dark for before he caught himself staring. Heat creeps up my neck immediately, but I yank my hand away like the shirt burned me.
“Nope.”
Doesn’t feel right.
I grab the black button-down instead and toss it onto the bed. Masculine enough. Safe enough. Comfortable. It smells faintly like detergent and the cedar sachets I keep shoved in the dresser drawers. But then I look at it, and I know.
This isn’t the right choice either.
Not because I hate it. I don’t. Some days this is me. Some days I look in the mirror dressed like this and feel settled through every cell of my body.
Today just isn’t one of those days.
That’s the problem.
My skin is tight and hot and just… wrong.
I press my palm against the edge of the dresser and stare at my reflection in the mirror across the room. Loose sweatpants. Sports bra. Red hair that’s half dry from my shower, curling around my ears. I should be nearly ready by now, not standing here dressed like… this.
There’s this weird pressure in my chest that I can’t seem to get rid of. Because I want Holden to look at me that way again.
Not just look at me. I want that expression again. That helpless, startled holy fuck expression he sometimes gets when I wear something soft or fitted or unmistakably feminine. Like his brain short-circuits for a second before he remembers how to function.
Now that I know that look, I crave that look. Even when it terrifies me. Even when there’s still a part—a big part—that’s wondering what the fuck we’re doing and when this is going to ruin us.
Because it will. When this falls apart, Holden and I won’t be the same. Our lifelong friendship will be permanently altered in a way I don’t think we can come back from. Not when we know how well our bodies fit together or the sounds we make when we make love.
My fingers flex against the old, worn wood.
It’s not as fast as it feels.
It’s what I’ve been telling myself these last few weeks—like if I can convince myself we’ve reached the turning point in a torturously-slow, slow-burn romance, it’ll all make sense.
Instead, it feels like an insta-love story where everything changed all at once.
I reach for the black shirt again, frustrated.
I know what the issue is even if I don’t want to say it. The tightness and discomfort are coming back because we’re doing this.
It’s just the truth.
I haven’t felt this out of sorts about my body since I stopped dating. Not really. I’ve dressed for myself and only myself for three years. But now… knowing what Holden’s gaze feels like, suddenly I’m looking at my clothes like they have a hotness meter attached.
Getting dressed doesn’t feel like self-expression anymore. It feels more like… performing.
I hate that thought instantly.
My stomach twists.
No. That’s not fair. Holden’s never asked me to be anything else. Never pushed. Never even hinted that he preferred me dressing one way. If anything, he’s the one person who looks at me like all the shifting parts make perfect sense.
But still.
I’ve caught myself bracing for it—the aching, devastating moment when Holden will realize I’m not the right one for him. It always happens.
I glance back toward the closet. If it were just me, and not some stupid date, then I’d probably go with my collared green shirt.
It’s what I’m drawn to right now. But what if I wear that and he looks disappointed?
Or what if I wear the skirt instead and I spend the whole night wondering if I picked it for me or for him?
Dammit. I hate this. I hate the constant push and pull that goes on in my head when I start worrying about how other people perceive me, like no matter what I choose, I’ll get it wrong.
Through the silence of the apartment, I can hear Aris fluttering about in her cage.
It’s weird not to have Holden’s music playing.
Unsettling, almost. I crave the silence when he’s here, but when he’s gone, I end up missing his endless playlists.
When did his presence stop being welcome here and start… belonging?
I move before I can overthink it again, crossing the room and digging through the closet with more force than necessary. Fabric slides over my arms until I find something that makes me pause.
The soft cream linen shirt with black buttons. That could go with my black jeans, and the ribbed tank under it. It’s a safe compromise. Not masc. Not fully fem either. Just somewhere in the middle where I can still breathe.
I tear off my bra, then slip into the tank and linen shirt. It flows loosely around me, soft and breathable.
There. Finally. That’s better.
After finishing my hair, I sit on the edge of the bed to pull my shoes on just as my phone buzzes.
Holden: Leaving now. Also I changed shirts three times, so if you’re spiraling too, at least we’re embarrassing together.
I let out a soft laugh, and type back before I can think too hard about it.
Me: I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been hot and ready for at least an hour.
Three dots appear immediately.
Holden: Oh, I believe it, Kor. You wake up hot.
I grin despite myself and toss the phone aside. The unease doesn’t disappear completely. I haven’t felt drawn to my masc side in months. Who knows if he’ll still feel the same way when he sees me.
I groan. “Damn you, Holden. I hate dating!”
I coax Aris into her cage as I wait for Holden to show up.
When he enters my apartment less than ten minutes later, he’s dressed in dark jeans and a plain blue shirt, which brings out his bright blue eyes.
Dressy and casual. I love it. He’s still wearing the leather bracelet I bought for him a couple of years ago too.
I secretly love that he rarely takes that off.
I bite the inside of my cheek as he comes closer, waiting for the moment his gaze darts down my body. When it does, I hold my breath.
Holden shakes his head slowly. “How did I never notice how damn sexy you are, like, all the time? It’s so unfair.”
I exhale hard. Does he mean it? I’m barely wearing any makeup today. Something else I haven’t done in months.
Holden kisses me. “Ready?”
Drawing in a shaky breath, I nod.
Once outside, I expect Holden to lead us to his car, but he gestures for me to follow him down the sidewalk.
“We’re not driving?”
He shrugs. “Figured we could stay closer to home. There’s a new Mexican restaurant on the corner.”
I narrow my eyes playfully. “That was conveniently not on the list you sent me.”
“It wasn’t? Oh. I must’ve forgotten.”
I shove him. “Manipulative asshole.”
He knows I’m a sucker for a new restaurant.
The sun hangs low enough to turn everything gold as we walk. San Diego evenings in late July are unfairly nice, all warm breeze and salt in the air. Holden reaches for my hand halfway down the block like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My pulse stutters, and not necessarily in a good way. We’re less than three blocks from my apartment. I frequent these streets and know some of these people by name.
It’s not being seen that I’m worried about. It’s what they’ll say. How can I explain what this is, when I’m still trying to wrap my head around it?
Holden lets go of my hand to pull open the restaurant door for me.
The place is busy without being packed, strings of warm lights hanging across the ceiling and music humming softly under the noise of conversation.
It smells amazing—grilled meat, citrus, and fresh tortillas. My stomach growls instantly.
Holden looks unbearably pleased with himself.
“Oh my god,” I say as the hostess grabs menus. “You’ve already been here, haven’t you?”
“No, but I may have read some reviews.”
“Wait.” I blink. “You researched our date?”
His cheeks turn pink. “Guess I’ve learned a thing or two.”
The hostess seats us in a booth near the window, and Holden slides in across from me.
“You’re flustered,” he says quietly.
“I am not.”
Holden’s grin widens. “You are. And it’s cute as fuck.”
I look down at my menu, huffing. “So anyway,” I say dramatically. “How was work?”
He laughs. “Busy as usual. Blaine started a countdown in the break room for when school starts again.”
I chuckle. “That sick of the summer camps, are you?”
“Oh, the summer camps are over. But now all those kids think they’re hotshots at climbing and are dragging their families in.”
“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? It means more business?”
“It also means less breaks from all the chaos.” Holden sighs. “I want to go do some real climbing soon. Outside of the gym, like maybe take a trip to Mission Gorge or something. Cole said he wants to go too.”
I wait for the invitation, but it doesn’t come. It stings, even though it shouldn’t. He’s gone climbing dozens of times without me. Besides, I don’t love it the way he does. “Well, you should.”