I put on a dress and a leather jacket, and I do everything else in my routine as if it was a normal date. I remove every hair from my body below the neck, slather myself in a variety of creams until I could be used to refract light, and take care with my makeup. And, just like a date with any other man, I act spastic from the moment Meyer shows up on my doorstep.
揌ello, sir,?I say when I open the door. I polish off the weird greeting with a little half butler bow.
揢h梙ey? You having that mental breakdown you promised me you wouldn抰 have??
He抯 in his normal attire. A gray henley and dark jeans, with some brown variation of sneakers. I抦 suddenly overcome with the realization that I don抰 know what his feet look like. What if he has hairy hobbit feet? Or even a millimeter too-long toenail? I know he抯 been barefoot around me before because we抳e all been to the beach and swimming plenty of times. Maybe that抯 a good sign that there抯 nothing overly strange about them since I can抰 bring them to mind? But I抳e never seen the man wear a flip flop. Is Meyer a flip flop man? Why does that idea of that kind of gross me out? Am I discovering a shallow prejudice of mine? An anti-foot fetish, if you will?
揓ones. Blink, please. You have crazy eyes.?
揝orry!?I look up to find him suppressing a smile.
揧ou about done??
揥ith what??
揧our one allowed freak out for the night,?he shakes his head at me.
I sigh. This is Meyer. At the end of the day, I love him. And I抦 a self-indulgent woman that wants to let myself enjoy this, consequences be damned.
I am also the type of woman who buys bags of Mini Cadbury Eggs at Easter time and tells myself I抣l ration them throughout the year, though, so perhaps I should be a bit more wary of the consequences of my indulgence.
Nah, fuck it.
揧ou look nice,?I say, and the smile that touches my lips is genuine. The returning curve in his soothes my frazzled nerves.
揧ou look beautiful. I抳e always liked those boots.?
揟hank you,?I reply before I turn around and lock up. 揑梪m, I knew that you did.?
His jaw rolls once before he nods over his shoulder to the car.揧ou ready??
揧ep.?
I smile stupidly when he slides into the car after me, as I inhale his familiar scent. It抯 pleasant and comforting, clean and seductive. It抯 petrichor and his fancy sandalwood soap that I know he loves, because he has the same in a hand soap version in all of the bathrooms at his house. It抯 him.
When we pull away from the curb we fall into our typical easy small talk. Everything continues along merrily, with him making me laugh and me making him smirk and shake his head, until we get to the amphitheater.
揑f this were a real date, would you let me pick which food truck to order from??I ask. It抯 fancy food truck night at the outdoor theater and I抦 already cycling through analysis-paralysis on what to order.
He sighs a little and looks over at me. 揌umor me, Jones, and try not to start every sentence with some variation of 慽f this were real? Because, fake girlfriend or not, I know you want something from each of them, and I抦 all for sampling anything that sounds good right alongside you tonight.?
揙h梠kay,?I don抰 know what to make of him this way. So relaxed and?almost wistful. But it抯 that wistfulness that compels me to grab his hand, to want to be reassuring. Of what, I don抰 know, but that little eclipse of sadness I抦 seeing makes me want to squeeze it away. I maul his hand a little in my abrupt efforts, until he wraps his big palm around mine and then slides it to link our fingers.
We get up to the window too soon, but when he has to let go of my hand he nudges me in front of him and wraps his arm around my chest, across my collar bone. 揟his ok??He asks the top of my head. I nod, my chin bumping into his forearm. We get truffle fries and chocolate sesame shakes to dip them in. Then, when we turn to head over to the next truck, his arm slides to rest over my shoulder as we walk.
揧ou抮e surprisingly smooth with this,?I say, pointing at the hand.
揑t feels surprisingly good,?he says.
I realize that I keep expecting sarcasm or a joke, but he抯 disarming me with his simple and honest replies.
揌ave I said thank you, yet??I ask.
揊or??
God, so much. The thought wants to make me choke up. For helping me achieve my dreams, for believing in me, for having the coolest kid on the planet. For grounding me, for being a friend. 揊or agreeing to this.?
揑t抯 not like it抯 some hardship, Fee,?he smiles a crooked smile down at me and lifts a brow. 揑 will say that I抦 going to be more comfortable if you keep making the first moves as far as this goes.?He nods to his hand on my shoulder.
I wince a little when looks away at the chalkboard menu. Me being in the driver抯 seat means being the one who might take it too far?
Stop it, Farley. He抯 an adult. You抮e also an adult, contrary to popular belief. You抮e both a part of this agreement. Have faith that the man will let you know if you抮e making him uncomfortable. He抯 already had this conversation with you.
My inner voice sounds an awful lot like my therapist when she抯 rationalizing with me.
We each order a couple of tacos and all the offered sides, pickled red onions, and a green spicy slaw. I decide that there抯 something deeply sexy about a man that can manipulate his hands in order to carry five cardboard food containers along with a shake. I still end up carrying two, then stand guard over our smorgasbord of goods when we find a spot, when Meyer goes to retrieve our chairs.
I see a few people point and talk to him at a distance, obviously recognizing him. He smiles politely but continues walking on. While it抯 normal for him to be recognized, it抯 not so much that it抯 bothersome, and anyone who seems to know him is a fan, so they抮e always respectful.
When he comes back he gets us set up on a blanket, but I quickly realize that this short dress won抰 allow me to settle in the low beach chair without some part of my ass being exposed. Meyer picks up on it right away and takes off his henley, revealing a simple white tee.
揂ren抰 you going to be cold??
揟his is L.A., Jones. I won抰 be cold until December.?
揟rue,?I laugh, and drape the thing across my lap, immediately digging in.
A preview comes on advertising the next season of my favorite show, Dollar Mountain, and I clap gleefully. 揙ooohhh God, I can抰 wait,?I declare.
Meyer scoffs and shakes his head ruefully. 揑t抯 surprising to me that that抯 what you抮e into.?
揥hat do you mean??
揑 mean I抳e heard you and Marissa drooling over the men in that show and they all look like they require subtitles to understand despite speaking English.?
I bark out a laugh. 揌ave you even seen it? They don抰 have accents at all. It抯 set in Idaho.?
揑 don抰 need to see it to know that when those guys say 慴oy?it sounds like it ends in a W A.?
揥hat the hell are you talking about, Meyer??
揃OWAH!?He bellows out the side of his mouth with a deep twang and I toss my head back and dissolve into a fit of laughter. That sight and sound will live in my head for ages. I wish I could set it for his ringtone, as my alarm for every morning. The first feeling, first laugh of every day could belong to him.
揧ou抮e watching it with me soon,?I tell him.
He chuckles back. 揊ine.?
He seems to be watching the previews a little more intensely than normal, staring up at the screen in between impressively large bites.
I抦 stealing another glance at him dipping three fries into his shake when I recognize my own voice, in an impression that closely resembles the lead singer of Korn, scream-yelling, 揧OU THINK THAT扴 SEXY BIG MAN?! I扡L SHOW YOU SEXY!!?