No, Becca, it’s not too bad, it’s for the best.
I’ve already made a fool of myself in front of Liam once, do I really want to do it again and with Grammy here? The problem with that question is the answer. Yes.
Shit.
I sit up, my heart pounding in my chest. What’s stopping me from growing some balls and asking him out? Now I know what happened, why can’t we just move forward, instead of tiptoeing around our obvious attraction to each other. It’s time I stopped hiding behind weak excuses that didn’t mean shit. He might be my professor but I’m a grown, goddam woman. Who the fuck cares? And being Jake’s cousin isn’t enough to stop me, so what the fuck is it? Jesus, Becca. I need to take my own advice and either do it or not.
If I were Loz or Amy, I’d be telling me to man up and quit fucking around.
I grab my phone, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I scroll down to his number. I don’t even doubt myself as I wait for him to answer, probably because I’m too busy trying to pat myself on the back for being so ballsy. I should’ve done this last week, after the party. No more of that indecisive bullshit from me.
“Hey.” Liam answering takes me by surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. How’s your room?” he adds. “Is it as nice as mine?”
“The only way you’d know that would be for you to come and see it for yourself…”
He chuckles. “I might have to take you up on that.”
“So, I was wondering…”
Fuck. I totally blank out and forget what I called to ask him. It all comes back quickly enough, but the pause in conversation has really messed with my head. Where did all the confidence I had five minutes ago run off to?
I breathe out, my lungs screaming for more air, so I breathe faster. When the room begins to spin, I know I’m fucked, and not in the way I was hoping for. I’m not used to whatever the fuck this is. Menopause, maybe? God, I wish it were menopause. At least then it’s not just me being a tool. I rub the knots out of the back of my neck.
God, it’s hot in here.
“You were wondering what, Becca?” he gently coaxes.
I cringe at the amusement in his voice. He’s loving that I’m tongue tied.
“Would you like to have a drink?” I blurt out.
Fuck me, that was hard work.
“With you?”
“No. With George Clooney,” I snap. “Look, just forget about it.”
“What? No. You can’t offer George up to me then revoke the offer. I guess I’ll have to have a drink with you, instead.”
Huh?
“There’s a bar right downstairs, just outside the elevators. Can we meet there? Grammy’s a heavy sleeper, but I’d still feel better if I had the main exit covered, at least.”
“Uh, sure. I’ll meet you down there in half an hour.”
I stare at the phone, confused. I don’t really understand what just happened, but hey, I’ll take it. I sprint into the bathroom, take a moment to appreciate the massive spa bath I’ll be splashing around in later, then I step into the shower.
Holy shit, I asked him out. Actually, I completely fucked-up asking him out, and then he asked me, but tomatoes, tomatas.
I quickly dry myself off and then grab my bag, dumping the contents onto the bed. That’s the point where I remember I only packed the one dress. Why the fuck did I only pack one dress? And such an ugly one at that? I pick up the floral, neck to knee dress that would be better suited to Grammy and snort.
There’s no way I’m meeting Liam tonight, in this. The problem is, I might not have a choice. I have sweatpants, and an old workout shirt, enough underwear to last a week, but nothing else that even passes as presentable—unless you count my good pair of sweat pants.
It’s this dress, or it’s nothing.Sitting down, I smile at the barman and order myself a wine. I’m not nervous, but I am feeling jittery and the only thing that will fix that is wine. I glance around and catch sight of my reflection in the mirror next to the bar. My eyes widen.
Holy Jesus.
I knew the dress was bad, but I didn’t think it was this bad. I look like a roll of carpet. And not nice carpet, either. No, I’m that tasteless, floral print you find in old cinemas and nursing homes. I’d been so focused on not wanting to look slutty for this stupid ceremony that I’d gone overboard with trying to be safe. The problem was I’d gone too safe. Sweatpants is a step up from this. I’m halfway out of my seat to go back and change, when I hear his voice. I park my ass back down and look up at him. He glances at my drink and raises his eyebrows.