I slow the car so I can turn in, coming to a stop outside the door to her building and parking the car. She unbuckles slowly, lingering in her seat for a moment.
“About earlier . . .” She fidgets a little. “When we were dancing. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I probably shouldn’t have had that second shot.”
Oh. Oh. Has she been worrying about this the entire time?
“No, no,” I assure her. “You didn’t. It’s fine.”
“I hope you don’t think I was, like, coming on to you. I don’t want you worrying about me crossing a line or something.”
“No, I—” It would probably be a terrible idea to let her know I’ve been struggling myself, right? Obviously, she is uncomfortable by the idea of it all. “It’s really okay. Blame it on the alcohol.”
“The alcohol,” she parrots, nodding. “Right. Yeah. So we’re okay?”
“We’re fine,” I urge. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time things get awkward. It’s a strange arrangement we’re in. There are no real guidelines here.”
“Okay. Whew.” She playfully wipes the back of her hand across her brow, peeking up a little. “Glad that’s settled. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah?”
“Sure.” That reminds me. “How did you know I work tomorrow?”
“Oh. My friend Parker is the IT guy. I got him to print me a copy of your schedule.” She looks panicked for a second. “Is that weird? I just thought that if someone asked me if you were working or something I should probably know. Now I’m thinking it might be creepy. Shit.”
“No, it’s fine. Really. I was just surprised that you knew. That totally makes sense.” I can tell she still feels weird about it, so I add, “You should probably get me a copy of yours too. Just in case.”
“Okay.” She nods fervently, looking relieved. “Yeah. I will.” She finally gives me another smile, and I’m starting to think that my body is developing some sort of instinctual reaction to it. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, okay?”
“You too,” I murmur, watching her open her door to leave.
She gives me a little wave before she steps inside the building, and I don’t leave until she’s out of sight. Her worried expression at the thought of having crossed a line sticks with me—for reasons I can’t explain. It should be a good thing that she’s worrying about it, and it should be a relief that she wanted to make sure I knew it wasn’t her intentionally coming on to me. So why do I feel so shitty right now?
During the entire drive home, I never came up with a good answer.
7
Mackenzie
The weekend ends up being a disastrous time at work, and after the night at the bar, I don’t see Noah for three days. I can’t pretend the space isn’t a little welcome after that awkward moment at the party.
I think I’d expected it to be less easy. Being on a date with Noah. A pretend date, I remind myself. I’ve had to remind myself of that a lot this weekend. Maybe it’s because I got so weird after my tipsy moment on the dance floor. It’s just that he really had smelled so good, and with the liquid courage that had been sloshing around in my belly, it was easier than it should have been to forget that it was all fake.
I blame my misstep on my lack of any good real dates lately. That had to be what it is. At least Noah had been gracious about it. Although . . . I can’t pretend some part of me hadn’t been a little miffed over him brushing it off. I blame that on hormones. Maybe if Gran wasn’t always trying to set me up with Mr. Hell No, I might have been able to find someone actually suitable to bring back to my place and bang all this confusion out of me.
Speaking of Gran.
I know it’s her before I even check the caller ID, rolling my eyes as I pull my phone out of my scrub pocket to answer it. This is the eighth phone call from her in three days, and every single one of them has amounted to the same thing, which is:
“So when are you bringing him for dinner?”
I close my eyes as I continue down the hall from the cafeteria, repressing the urge to sigh. “Noah’s schedule is crazier than mine, Gran. It’s not like either of us gets a lot of free nights.”
“Oh, surely you could sneak away for an evening to have dinner with your poor grandmother,” she pouts. “You haven’t been to see me in ages.”
The hallway is blessedly empty right now, and I’m grateful that no one is around to listen in. “I was just there last week.”