“Are you going to get that?” My aunt nods at my silent Samsung.
“Get wha—” Before I can complete my sentence, my screen lights up with a message.
It’s from Dax.
It’s a picture of Dougie crouched on the roof of his garage in his Spider-Man suit. Likely taken moments before he realized he was so far off the ground. Then a message.
Sorry I bailed last night. Spider-Man refused to retire the tights until 4 am. Want to try again? Drinks? Friday?
“Message from Dax?” my sister asks.
I lock my screen and set it on the table. “Maybe.”
She shakes her head, her smile stupid and smug. “You’re smiling like an idiot. You like him.” She takes a very long drink of her coffee. “And as soon as you admit that to yourself, the less sexually frustrated you’ll be. You can bang all the random big dicks you want, but nothing is as good as sex with your best friend. Think about how well Dax knows your mind. That will translate into how well he knows your body. Orgasms for days, my friend. For days.”
Chapter 14
My week drags on at a glacial pace. And with a clear, beer-free head, I’m not entirely sure if Dax has asked me on a date for Friday night or if we’re simply hanging out. Two colleagues. Entrepreneurs in the James Street Small Business Association.
It’s not like me to obsess over a guy. To be fair, I spent four years dating Stuart, who was as predictable as the number two setting on my BLACK+DECKER toaster. He called me every morning to provide a full weather forecast and make recommendations on my outerwear and texted me when he got home from work to give me a quick debrief on his day and wish me sweet dreams. I never once second-guessed our relationship. Mind you, I didn’t exactly see our breakup coming, but that’s another issue for another day.
Today my issue is Dax.
And our date or non-date this evening.
And how I know we should keep things platonic. Yet, I still take over forty-five minutes to pick out a pair of black jeans, boots, and a simple white camisole trimmed in lace, telling myself it’s because I’m trying to present a certain image to my customers, not because Dax once said lace on a woman is his kryptonite.
My phone rings while I’m on my walk to work. My heart picks up a few notches until I see the name on my screen.
“Hey, Aunt Livi.”
She doesn’t answer back immediately, but I can hear the sound of her voice somewhere off in the background, and it sounds like she’s talking to a customer.
“Oh hi, sweetheart, just wanted to check in. Mr. Zogaib called to say you’re not quite open yet, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t go back to your other dimension or anything.”
I’m simultaneously impressed that she managed to make that statement with such nonchalance and slightly annoyed that my next-door neighbor feels he has to tattle every time I’m a few minutes late.
It’s only nine-fifteen, and I needed a few extra minutes to blow out my hair.
“Everything is great. I’m almost at the store and sticking around this dimension for at least a couple of weeks.”
I wave to Mr. Zogaib as I pass his flower shop, then unlock the door to my store with my aunt still on the line.
“Have you talked to your sister this week?” Aunt Livi asks.
“Not since Saturday. I’ve been busy.” And avoiding her. Although Kiersten would typically be my go-to when it comes to analyzing important things like whether Dax has asked me on a date, I already know her opinion, and I am not mentally ready to see the smugness on her face when I admit she might be right.
“Well, maybe give her a call later,” my aunt says. “I think she’s a little stressed lately.”
I snort-laugh, which ironically is a classic Kiersten move. “Kierst is Superwoman. She’s the perfect wife. Amazing mom. Would probably be PTA president if she had a filter or wasn’t such an asshole. I’m a hot mess on a good day. What would she ever need from me?”
“That’s a good question…” She clears her throat but doesn’t speak. It’s her tell when she’s worried about something, though I’m not entirely sure if it’s Kiersten causing the angst or if she’s agreeing with the state of my life.
“I’ll call her later,” I promise.
“Thank you, poodle. I worry about her.” And although she doesn’t say it, I can hear in her voice the And I worry about you too.
I end the call with a promise to call her back tomorrow, flip the sign to open and awesome from its previous state of closed but still awesome, and immediately greet my first customer: Mr. Zogaib’s elderly mother. She has a thing for my lemon-scented hand cream.