Chapter 28
Never, never in my whole life have I been nervous about getting dressed before.
Until now. I’ve tried every single piece of clothing hanging in my closet and have not felt satisfied with any of them.
I curse under my breath when I think about all the clothes hanging in my closet back in New York that would be perfect tonight. Why didn’t I bring any of them?
Cactus left two hours ago. She went out to the living room and hasn’t come back. I’m left with my own misery. I wish she had a voice so she could help me because I could really use some help.
I try on a red dress one more time. But does this say sex or date?
This is, after all, a date. A real date with Benjamin Reyes.
Who never dates. Or is it a real date? A flip in my stomach makes me hitch my breath.
“Don’t make this too big of a deal, June,” I mutter to myself.
“It’s just a goddamn dinner.” But my stomach doesn’t seem to agree.
It flips again. “Just a dinner,” I repeat.
Because it is. It’s really just a dinner.
It doesn’t mean anything. Even though I realize a not-so-small part of me wished it did.
I pull off the red dress again, throwing it back on the bed. Back to square one. I look down at my body. Should I change underwear? Has he seen these? Surely, I must own something sexier.
I climb the pile of clothes on the floor to get to the dresser.
Fuck, am I getting sweaty? This is not the time to get sweaty.
Why is it so hot in here? I should get an air conditioner.
I dig around in the top drawer. “These are not good enough,” I murmur when I don’t find any bras that I like.
They would be fine any other day but not today.
The sudden tone from my phone interrupts me in my panic-search.
I sigh loudly. Who has the audacity to call me now?
Now is not the time. I mumble a “Shit” as I start climbing back, still dressed in the same underwear and no clothes.
Great. And I’m running out of time. I should ignore the phone . . . But what if it’s Mom or Clara?
The phone lies face down on the bed, on top of a silky blouse I rejected fifteen minutes ago. Impatiently, I pick it up and sigh before I turn up the screen to see who’s calling me. It better be Mom or Clara because . . . I freeze.
Lydia. My boss. I stare at the phone in my hand, suddenly unable to move. It’s the call I’ve been waiting for all summer. And now it’s finally happening, and I seem unable to pick up. I can’t explain it, not even to myself.
Or maybe that’s a lie. Maybe I know exactly why I’m unable to pick up. Because if I do, the bubble I’m in will burst. It’s the proof of me belonging somewhere else.
The ringing stops, and I close my eyes and brush out a heavy breath. What the hell am I doing? It’s Lydia calling. I have never in my life missed a call from her—and certainly not on purpose.
I wince when it starts again, and slowly, with shaky fingers, I hit the green button.