48 | In a World of Boys
In a World of Boys
Molly
CHECKING MY HAIR in Chloe’s mirror for the millionth time, I try to steady my breathing with a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to calm the frantic butterfly wings beating against my ribs.
The girl staring back at me looks like a stranger, her eyes wide with a panic I feel all the way down to my toes.
When I asked Niall what day he had in mind for our date, he had said, “as soon as possible.” Which is why it’s Thursday afternoon and I’m currently freaking out in Chloe’s bedroom. My date is still hours away—dinner time—but she insisted you have to get ready hours before.
I trust Chloe more than I trust myself. She’s had three, count them, three boyfriends, back in London, so she’s practically a seasoned expert in the arcane art of dating. I trust her opinions on everything right now.
“Molly—calm down.” Chloe laughs, not unkindly, as she sifts through a mountain of clothes in her closet.
All her clothes are really fancy things she gets from her mother, who’s a fashion designer back in London.
“What color are we thinking of wearing? We need some sort of theme to work off of if we’re going to get anywhere. ”
“I’m gonna throw up,” I announce, biting down on my lip so hard I taste blood. I have to stop doing that. “God, what are we gonna even talk about?”
“I don’t know, what do you guys normally talk about?” she huffs, pulling her head out of the closet, holding a selection of sweaters over her forearm. She drapes them over her bed, a rainbow of soft knits.
“I don’t remember,” I wail, stopping my pacing to clutch my head in my hands. “I don’t remember anything about him. Or myself. What’s my middle name again? Do I even have a personality? What are my interests?”
“Being a Drama Queen, apparently,” she shakes her head, a fond expression in her hazel eyes as she grabs me by the shoulders and steers me over to her bed like I’m a lost puppy.
She pushes me down onto the duvet, which is so soft I feel like I’m sinking into a cloud.
“Have you really never been on a date before?”
“Once, kinda,” I admit, curling my knees up to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible. “But I was in ninth grade and we went to a movie theatre and he tried to touch my boob during the opening credits of some stupid movie I didn’t even really want to see. It was... not a success.”
Chloe wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Ew. Well, we know Niall wouldn’t do anything like that. He’s a gentleman. He probably asks permission to hold your hand.”
“I know. That’s not the point,” I groan, flopping back onto the bed and staring up at her ceiling, which is painted a delicate shade of blush pink.
“What if I’m just... bad at dating? What if I’m a terrible conversationalist?
What if I spill food all over myself? What if I laugh at something that’s not even funny? ”
“It’s impossible to be bad at dating,” she says, sitting down next to me and patting my leg reassuringly. “You just have to be yourself. That’s how he likes you, remember? The girl who’s smart and funny and crazy sexy when playing football. Just be that girl.”
I groan even though her words are helpful, stretching my legs out in front of me again.
I’m taller than Chloe so I had to bring my own pants, a pair of dark wash skinny jeans that I’m hoping are acceptable.
“But what if he realizes that I suck? Like, what if he’s used to these cool, confident Irish girls and he gets... me?”
Chloe sighs, her expression softening. “Molly. Niall Blue is obsessed with you. He looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars. He’s not gonna change his mind just because you might be a little awkward on your first date.
I’ve seen the way he gets when he looks at you—it’s disgusting, really.
All heart eyes and visions of dancing in flowers. ”
I peek over at her from under my arm. “Really?”
“Yes. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
I cross my arms over my chest, relenting. I was being a little bit ridiculous.
Okay, a lot ridiculous.
Niall knows me. Of course he likes me. I’m freaking out and overthinking over nothing.
“Fine. Come on. I still need help picking an outfit.”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past hour?” Chloe laughs, grabbing my hands and pulling me up off the bed with a surprising amount of strength for someone so slender. “Now, let’s find you something to go with those jeans.”
Eventually, after trying on what feels like every sweater in her closet, we settle on a blue pullover, from some french designer Chloe says is très chic. It’s a soft, cozy cashmere in a shade that matches Niall’s dark eyes, a fact that Chloe points out with a wink.
It’s simple yet elegant, and feels incredibly soft against my skin. Not that I think Niall will notice the fine detailing of my French Made Sweater, but it makes me feel a bit more confident. Like a suit of armour made of stupidly expensive wool.
“Do you want me to do your hair?” Chloe asks me, after we decide that this is the one.
“Would you?” I ask. My own hair styling abilities are limited to a ponytail or a messy bun, neither of which seem remotely appropriate for a first date. I could possibly give myself lopsided braids, but that doesn’t sound very appealing either.
“Of course.” she grins, pushing me down onto the vanity stool in front of her massive light-up mirror. Chloe’s house is fairly average sized, just for her and her dad, but her bedroom feels like it belongs in a mansion. “Now stop fidgeting.”
I sigh, letting Chloe work her magic with my hair. She pulls half of it up into a loose bun, letting the rest fall in soft waves down my back. She sprays it with something that smells like flowers and sunshine, and when she’s done I barely recognize myself.
I look... older. Prettier. Like a girl who goes on dates and doesn’t have a panic attack beforehand.
“There,” she says when she’s done, stepping back to admire her handiwork with a critical eye. “Perfect. He won’t know what hit him”
“Thanks, Chlo.”
She smiles, squeezing my shoulders. “Any time, Mol. Now let's go get your man.”
??ˋ ?? ?ˊ?
SIX O'CLOCK, NIALL had promised. I figured the time being set so precisely would give me enough time to freak out during the minutes that come after six o’clock while it naturally takes him a little bit longer than that.
It’s the Irish way, after all, a little bit of fashionably late is practically a national tradition.
However, at exactly six o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rings, cutting through the quiet of the house and making me jump out of my skin.
I’m alone at home—Chloe’s dad dropped me off like twenty minutes ago. Mom and Jamie are up in Dublin tonight, for another one of Jamie’s therapy sessions, and Lorraine is staying at a friend’s house for a sleepover.
The already huge house feels too big, way too quiet, the ticking of the clock in the hallway echoing like a drumbeat counting down to my doom.
Him arriving on time is somehow more nerve wracking than it would have been if he had been late.
It takes me a few seconds, a few deep, calming breaths that do nothing to calm me at all, but I finally make my way to the door and open it. I’m a bit surprised to see that he’s also wearing a blue shirt, since we didn’t text each other anything about what we’d be wearing.
It’s a simple, dark blue button-down in almost the same shade as mine, and it makes his eyes look even bluer—if that were to be possible.
“Hey,” he says, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans, a shy and almost nervous smile on his face.
His shirt is rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms, and I swear I see goosebumps rise on his skin when he looks at me. It’s a tiny detail that makes my own skin tingle in response.
“Hi,” I say back, my voice a little breathless.
I’m suddenly hyperaware of every single thing I’m doing with my body; how my hands are clasped in front of me, how I’m leaning slightly on one foot, how I’m probably staring at him like a complete idiot. “You’re on time.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, glancing at his watchless wrist. He quickly corrects himself, looking at the wrist that actually does have a watch. It’s an old, worn-looking thing I’ve never seen him wear before. “Didn’t wanna be late.”
I nod, stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind me. “Where are we going?”
“Thought we’d go to Mulligan’s, you know ‘cause we go there all the time with the team but we’ve never been just us,” he says, nodding toward his car parked in the driveway. “Unless you’d rather go somewhere else.”
Maybe I’m crazy, but the car looks like it’s been cleaned. The windows are sparkling, and there’s no trace of the usual empty wrappers or discarded clothing visible on the dashboard. Though maybe he threw it all in the backseat.
“No, that sounds great,” I say, a wave of relief washing over me. “I like the food there.”
I was glad to be going somewhere familiar, a neutral ground where I know the layout of the table and what I would want to order. It lessens the chances of some unknown disaster befalling me.
We walk to his car in silence, though not an awkward one. He opens the passenger door for me, a small gesture that still makes me blush—it’s such a simple thing, but it makes me feel weirdly giddy, like I’m in a movie.
“So,” he starts once we’re both buckled in and he’s pulling out of the driveway, his eyes staying fixed on the road. “How was your day?”
I do a quick glance into the backseat. Nope, no sign of trash. He totally cleaned.
“Fine.” I say, then immediately correct myself. Honesty. We tell each other things now. “I spent most of it freaking out about tonight.”
“Yeah?” He chuckles, the sound making my stomach feel warm. His fingers are tapping against the steering wheel in a nervous rhythm. “Me too.”
“Really?” I ask, turning to look at him. He’s so confident, so sure of himself, it’s hard to imagine Niall being nervous about anything.
“Course.” He glances at me quickly before focusing back on the road. “Didn’t wanna fuck this up.”
“You couldn’t,” I say, and I mean it.
“I could,” he says, and for a moment I see a flicker of the same vulnerability he gets sometimes when he lets his walls down for me. He’s being honest, too.
“Well, you haven’t yet.”
“Good.”
The rest of the drive is filled with easy conversation—school, soccer, JJ and Claire’s weird tension that seems to be getting worse, Chloe and Finn’s even weirder non-tension that’s getting more and more obvious by the day, Joey's been acting strange lately.
By the time we finally get to Mulligan's, the knot in my stomach has loosened significantly, replaced by a warm fluttery feeling of excitement.
This is gonna be good. Great. The best. I can feel it.