Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

I chuckle and hand her her cell to which she snatches and looks at the screen, ignoring us all again as she walks toward the stairs.

I shake my head. “I wasn't ever like that, was I?”

“Boy crazy? No,” Dad deadpans receiving laughs from Mom and me.

“No, seriously.”

“No. But times are different now. When you were her age you were out surfing and playing sports whenever you could, there wasn't much in the way of cellphones.”

“True,” I agree with him and give them both a hug.

“Call when you get home,” Mom shouts as I'm climbing into my car.

I shake my head but tell her I will. I may be thirty-two years old but she'll always try to baby me.

I scroll through the messages from Nate this afternoon. It wasn’t until the nerves kicked in after lunch I realized I didn’t even know where we were going on our date. In typical Nate style, he wouldn’t tell me; not that I should have expected anything less.

Amelia: Where are we going tonight?

Nate: It’s a surprise. ;)

Amelia: Come on, Nate. I don’t know what to wear, I haven’t been on a date for… a while.

Nate: Hmmm… How long is a while? A month? A year?

Amelia: I plead the fifth.

Nate: Still not telling you where I’m taking you.

Amelia: Fine. Just tell me what to wear then.

Nate: Clothes?

Amelia: Hardy har… So funny.

Nate: No seriously, clothes. You look good in anything. ;)

Amelia: So if I turn up in jeans and a t-shirt, that’s okay?

Nate: Perfect.

My finger hovers over the keyboard, the time along the top of my screen showing 7:56. Four minutes until he’ll pull up at the bottom of the driveway. Crap. I’m so goddamn nervous I think I may explode. I haven’t been able to get the feel of his lips off mine or forget how his hands felt on my waist for a week.

He makes me feel things I never thought I could. The way my skin comes to life when he touches me, not knowing whether to be cold from goose bumps or hot from his searing touch setting fire to my skin.

Much like my brain: it doesn’t know whether it’s coming or going. Not knowing what to think or feel but going along with it as he has the kind of affect that has me pushing everything aside when I’m with him.

I flick my gaze to the mirror in the bathroom, staring at myself as the pads of my fingers flutter over my tingling lips.

Dropping my arm, I adjust the light-blue bardot top skimming underneath my collarbone, making sure it sits just below the waistband of my light wash skinny jeans. Running my hands over my dark-blond wavy hair, I nod to myself and switch the light off, walking to my bed and sitting on the edge as I push my feet into my black ankle boots with a small block heel.

Nate: I’m here.

Shit shit shit. My breath leaves my body in a burst as my shoulders sag. Am I really doing this? Am I really putting myself out there… with Nate? What if it all goes wrong? What if he gets to know me and doesn’t actually like me? What if—

Nate: Some woman walked past and is watching me. I think she thinks I’m a stalker. You better hurry before she calls the cops or tries to climb in the car with me or something. I wouldn’t blame her, I do look dashing tonight.

My eyes widen as his text pings on my phone and laughter slips out. I need to stop overthinking everything and just enjoy myself. It’s one date. It’s not like the next few hours will change the rest of my life, right?