17. Bailey
seventeen
Bailey
“Beto, I can’t do this. Why did I think this was a good idea?” I groan and run my hands through my hair.
I pace the hallway and then stand in the doorway of my closet. Again. The hanging shirts look back at me mockingly, certain I’m destined to go in boxers and Vans.
Is this a date? It’s definitely a date.
Oh fuck, what have I done?
What in fresh hell am I supposed to wear on a freaking date? I don’t date. Furthermore, I don’t date men. Way to overshoot the mark there, Bays.
Comfort zone? Who’s she? “Ugh.”
I glance up at the ceiling like it’s going to give me an answer. My stomach knots as nerves coil their way through my body.
Okay. Not a date. Let’s say it’s not a date and it’s just me, normal me, going to hang out with a friend? Normal me and a normal friend. What do I wear? What do I eat?
What can I eat? Not that I’ve been obsessively worrying about butt stuff or anything.
Definitely no reddit threads about how it’s not a self-cleaning oven.
No google searches about prep and lube. I would never.
That’s definitely not my bottle of fiber capsules in the kitchen and the condoms and lube in the bedside drawer showed up out of nowhere.
Swear it. A fairy gaymother of sorts, maybe?
I swallow thickly then throw my left hand over my eyes and play Russian roulette with my t-shirts, grabbing one quickly then turning away from the closet. I count to three and then force myself to look. Okay, this might actually work.
The vintage KISS shirt is one of my favorites. It’s well worn and has been washed enough times that the fabric is soft but not so thin you can see my damn nipples. Nope. We aren’t playing that game again.
I throw the shirt over my head and grab a pair of faded jeans before throwing on my black Vans. I turn to face the mirror and I’m surprised when I just see myself looking back. No monumental changes, no horns growing. Just me.
The tightness in my gut eases as I head to the bathroom to fix then unfix my hair, and spray on my favorite cologne. I brush my teeth one more time and then rinse with mouth wash, drying my chin with my face towel.
Is this normal?
Am I being a complete freak right now?
Probably.
Can I control it?
Not a chance.
I jump when my phone dings with a notification. Jesus, Bays.
Oliver: Be there in five. Meet me outside the double doors.
I type a few responses before I say fuck it and just grab my wallet and keys, and head down the stairs.
I hit the landing and my heart starts to pound, the sound loud in my ears.
I can feel my cheeks flush as I fumble with my phone and keys trying to figure out which pocket to put everything in.
If I put my keys in the back, I might get stabbed when I sit down.
If I put them in the front, they might try to slice into my junk.
Awesome.
This is definitely not normal.
Wallet’s in the back. Keys I’ll deal with later. Phone? In my sweaty ass hand.
Jeans are buttoned, fly is zipped, shoes are tied.
I straighten as his SUV pulls into the lot, forcing a deep breath in, and a long, slow exhale.
That is his car isn’t it? Shit, the windows are tinted and the glare from the sun is hitting right where the driver’s face should be. I can’t fucking see. How fantastic would that be?
Oh, hey Oliver, I just jumped into a stranger’s car so I’ll have to sort a few things out with the police, might be late for our non-date date.
I can’t help but smile when the door swings open and black leather boots hit the asphalt in front of me.
“Hey, green eyes,” he says with a wink.
Goddamnit, why does he do that?
“Hey.”
He saunters to the passenger door and opens it, “You coming?”
Shit, Bailey. Move your feet. “Y-yeah, sorry,” I stammer. Good god, we’re already off to one hell of a start.
His bright smile widens as he waits while I try to figure out how to enter a vehicle.
Nothing to see here, just a newborn fucking calf with legs that won’t listen. Look away.
I get settled into the seat and he closes the door behind me, a soft chuckle leaves him and settles across my chest.
My racing heart slows as his nearness settles me. The smell of leather and bergamot is familiar, soothing the churning thoughts in my mind.
He slides into his seat and grins, “Thanks for coming.”
“You might regret saying that once you’ve been around me longer than a few minutes,” I say.
“And why is that?” He looks at me, eyes alight with unleashed laughter and something else I can’t put my finger on.
“I, um…” I pause, “Honestly, I’m not sure why I said that.” I break eye contact and focus on the floorboard, the heat in my cheeks now creeping into my ears.
“Don’t worry, green eyes.”
Those words land between my ears and descend until they settle into my chest. He’s got me. The corners of my mouth turn up and I brave a glance at him. “Thanks,” I say, hoping he understands that his promise is bigger than my small word of appreciation reflects.
“Anytime,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot.