Better With You (Better Love 2)

I blink at my phone.

The fact that he’s so close surprises me. How does he keep surprising me?

Alex: I’m right, aren’t I?

Me: You’re very close. I didn’t add banana. Banana is too overpowering for a smoothie. I only like it in baked goods and certain cereals.

Alex: Do I get cool points for getting the rest right?

Alex: *praying hands emoji*

Me: Sure, Butch. I’ll give you cool points.

Alex: Yessssss.

Alex: Do you work tonight?

Alex: Wanna get together?

Alex: I want to see you.

By the time I reach the student parking lot, my cheeks hurt from smiling. I can’t get up with him tonight, but I like how badly he wants to see me. I’m thrilled at how badly I want to see him. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this kind of giddy excitement about someone, and a lot longer since I’ve actually acknowledged it. A sneaking insecurity flares in the recesses of my mind, reminding me the risks of trusting someone, of letting them in, but I stamp it out.

Me: I do work tonight, but I can’t meet up. I got some stuff to do early tomorrow that will take most of the day. Tomorrow night, though? I’ll text when I’m done.

Alex: Def.

Alex: What if I come to Bar 31 tonight and keep you company while you’re working?

Me: No. If you come in tonight, I’ll end up going home with you and I can’t do that. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Plus, it’s a Friday night. I don’t need company. Fridays are crazy.

I mean it, too. The last time he came into Bar 31 while I was working, I ended up shoved up against the wall outside immediately after my shift with his hands down my pants, and then tangled up in his bed sheets until early morning the next day. As great as that night was, I cannot have that distraction tonight. Not right before this contest. It’s too important.

Alex: Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow night.

Alex: But no standing me up.

Alex: I’ve got plans for you.

Me: Yeah? What are they?

Alex: It’s a surprise.

Alex: But they involve my tongue, my dick, and my fingers.

Alex: And your pussy.

Jesus lord, I cannot. I breathe in and out slowly and clamp my eyes shut in an attempt to tame the chills skirting over my body and the butterflies lapping my insides. The things this man does to me.

Me: Looking forward to it.

* * *

I haven’t slept.

I got home from work at quarter to three, took a few hits from my bowl to calm my shit down, then convinced myself that the six dozen cookies I had prepped for the contest weren’t good enough, so I baked another two dozen.

Ivy waited up for me, thank god, because if she hadn’t been home to distract me, I definitely would have gone off the rails. Gotta hand it to my bestie—she’s definitely become an expert at wrangling anxiety. She’s like my very own Mr. Miyagi of coping mechanisms.

By the time my alarm goes off, I’m already drinking coffee from the pot V programed the night before. She’s asleep, having turned in around four, but she’s letting me borrow her car so I don’t have to take the cookies in my backpack on Baby.

She’s an actual angel on Earth.

I’m wearing a pair of maroon pixie pants and a black button-down blouse. This contest is going to be broadcast live on The Morning Show on Channel 5 News, so I figured a band tee and ripped jeans weren’t a smart choice. I am wearing my Docs, though. I need something familiar.