Well, this is depressing. I thought I did such a good job.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Now what? I have literally no idea what to wear on this damn date.”
“May I offer some advice?”
I sigh and turn back to Rikki. “Sure, why not. My night can’t get any worse.”
She puts her book down on the bed and sits up straight.
“Okay, look. This guy is into you, Tamsin. Not this other weird girl I’ve never met. What’s the first album on your Annie Lennox playlist?
Rikki has been doing this thing lately where she communicates with me via song and album titles, which is kind of adorable when you consider that she hardly knew anything about music until I took her under my wing.
“Be Yourself Tonight.”
“There you go. My advice in a nutshell. I mean, you’d never let someone else slut shame you, right?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, dressing like this seems like a passive aggressive way of slut-shaming yourself. So unless this is a genuine fashion choice, don’t fucking do it.”
Rikki hardly ever swears. I always pay attention when she does.
“What am I supposed to wear, then?”
“Whatever makes you happy.” Rikki waves a hand at me. “Does that outfit make you happy?”
I look down at myself. “No.”
“Okay, then. Wear something that does.”
I think about this for a moment. The fact is, the advice Rikki just gave me is the advice I give other women when they go out. Wear what makes you happy. Because being comfortable with yourself is always the sexiest accessory.
How could I have forgotten that? Is there something about Daniel that made me forget it?
If we were going on a real date, this would be a bad sign. I decided last year I’d rather be single than in a relationship that makes me feel shitty about myself.
Now here I am, ready to dress like someone else in the hopes of pleasing some guy.
“Thanks,” I say to Rikki.
“No problem,” she says, going back to her book.
Ten minutes later I ask her again.
“How do I look now?”
She looks up, studies me for a second, and then grins.
“Like a million bucks. Daniel’s not going to know what hit him.”
“It’s not a real date,” I remind her.
“Sure, go with that.”
“It’s not!”
“Uh huh.”
Oh, forget it. I turn away from Rikki and check myself in the mirror.
I’m wearing a black cotton mini skirt and four inch heels. I dressed it down with a T-shirt—black with a pink glitter heart—and dressed it up with the real diamond earrings my grandmother gave me. I’m wearing my favorite blood-red lipstick, dark gray eye shadow, and black liquid eyeliner.
When I realize I’m smiling at my reflection, I know I’ve made the right choice.
I realize something else, too. I want to make Daniel eat his words.
No kissing and fooling around, he said.
Well, I can handle that if I have to. I’ve gone without sex for a year. But by the end of the night, I want Daniel hanging on by a thread to his own ground rules.
Or better yet, breaking them.
I check the time, and it’s 6:53. Seven minutes to wait.
“Should I go down to the common room or stay here?”
Rikki looks up from her book again.
“He said he was picking you up, right?”
“Yes. But what does that mean?”
“Well, you described this guy as the old-fashioned type. So I’d say whatever would be the least trouble for you and the most trouble for him.”
“So I should stay here.”
“That’s what I’d do.”
I sit down on the edge of my bed and wait.
6:54 and counting.
I have butterflies in my stomach. Although, to be honest, that’s a sweet euphemism for what’s actually happening. The truth is, I’m feeling nauseous.
That can’t be good.
“What can’t be good?” Rikki asks, and I realize I spoke out loud.
“I’m nervous. Sick to my stomach. How am I suppose to charm the pants off Daniel Bowman if I’m nervous and sick to my stomach?”
Rikki closes her book. “You’ve got it backward. If this is an old-fashioned date, it’s his job to charm you. Your job is just to sit back, relax, and let him do all the work.”
I think about that for a minute. And then, slowly, it dawns on me that what Rikki’s describing would be kind of…nice.
It would be nice not to think about whether a guy likes my outfit, or thinks I’m funny or pretty or sexy, or if he likes the movie or restaurant I picked out. It would be nice to be doted on.
A little weird, but nice.
I start to relax a little. It’s exactly seven o’clock. I’m starting to wonder if I should go downstairs after all when there’s a knock on the door.
And then, just like that, my nerves come back.
I jump to my feet and cross the room. When I open the door, Daniel’s standing in the hallway with a smile on his face and a bouquet of daisies in his hand.
He looks amazing. He’s wearing a dark red shirt and khaki pants. His hair is tousled in that sexy way some guys can pull off so well, and the clippers he used to trim his beard were obviously set to sexy as fuck.
“Hi,” he says, and when the sound of his voice makes the back of my neck prickle, it occurs to me I might be in some trouble here.
“Hi,” I say, feeling shy and stupid and ridiculous and awkward.
I try to remember what Rikki said about him needing to charm me.
His eyes travel down to the tips of my toes—blood red like my lips—and back up to my face.
“You look incredible,” he says, and I actually blush.
I mean, my God. Rikki and Claire blush. Not me.
“Tamsin,” Rikki says behind me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your young man?”
I roll my eyes, but it’s obvious from his grin that Daniel thinks she’s pretty funny.
Oh well, what the hell. If we’re doing old-fashioned why not really do it, right?
“Rikki Eisendrath, allow me to present Daniel Bowman. Daniel, this is my roommate, Rikki.”
Daniel hands me the bouquet of daisies—snowy white against green leaves—and goes over to shake Rikki’s hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says.
She smiles, and I can tell she likes him.
“The pleasure is all mine. I’ve lifted Tamsin’s curfew for this occasion, so you kids have fun.” She nods at my bouquet. “I’ll put those in water for you.”
On an impulse, I pull out one daisy. I snap off all but a few inches of the stem and slide it behind my ear.
Then I hand the bouquet to Rikki and turn back to Daniel.
He’s looking around the room, and I’m very glad I tidied up my half earlier today.
“This looks like you,” he says. “I like it.”
In spite of my resolution not to care what he likes or doesn’t like about me, I feel warmed by the compliment.
“Thanks,” I say. “Should we go?”
He nods and offers me his arm, which is almost too old-fashioned. But I take it, figuring he’s setting the tone for the evening, and I discover that a side benefit of being squired around like a Victorian maiden is getting to feel up Daniel’s bicep.
It’s quite impressive.
Which reminds me: taking me on a date wasn’t the only thing on Daniel’s agenda today.
“I’m sorry you guys lost the game,” I tell him as we go down the stairs. “It was pretty close, though. 24-21, right?”
He nods. “Did you actually watch us play? Andre says you’re not much of a football fan, though he gives you props for trying.”
He’s talked to Andre about me?
“I admit I didn’t see the whole thing. I caught the last quarter, though.�
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“That’s too bad. You missed five minutes during the first half when I was actually on the field.”
I glance up at him. He doesn’t sound bitter or anything, which reminds me of what Will said about him.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
We’re downstairs now, at the front door. Daniel holds it open for me.
“More personal than the last question you asked me?”
I walk through and wait for him to follow, and then he offers me his arm again.
“No, not that personal,” I say as we head away from campus and toward downtown. “I was just wondering if you mind not being a starter on the team.”
It’s the weekend, which means we’re not the only students heading off campus for a night out. The sidewalk is crowded and Daniel pulls me closer to him. The air isn’t cold but it’s crisp, and the warmth from his body feels good.
Really good.
My knees are a little shaky, and I’m starting to wonder if the four-inch heels were a good idea. On the plus side, though, the height difference between us has been cut by a third.
We’re at the perfect kissing distance, in fact. Although if Daniel has his way, kissing won’t be a thing tonight.
“I’m cool with not being a starter,” he says. “I made my peace with that a while ago. I mean, I still have hopes of getting more playing time—especially next year, when I’ll be a senior. But not everyone can be first string, right? You need reliable backup players, too. You can’t have a team without them.”
There’s something so…I don’t know, generous about that statement. Especially when I contrast it with my own attitude about being a backup player.
I’m quiet for a moment, thinking about that, and when we stop at a crosswalk Daniel nudges me gently.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I mean, I was just remembering how I complained about being an understudy last year or being cast in minor roles. You’re a lot more humble than I am. I’ve always got my eye out for a spotlight, and if I see one, that’s where I want to be.”
The light changes, and we cross the street.
“You deserve to be in the spotlight,” Daniel says. “You’re too beautiful and talented not to be.”
Beautiful?
Talented?
I’m in danger of getting a little tipsy on his compliments.
“Don’t you deserve to be in the spotlight?” I counter, not wanting to let him know that his flattery is totally working on me. “You work hard, and you’re good enough to be on the team. Don’t you want to be a star?”
“I wouldn’t refuse it if it happened. But what I want more than anything is to be part of a team, and I have that. And my scholarship is just as good as our starting quarterback’s.”
My understanding of athletic scholarships is a little hazy.
“You don’t have to be a starter to get a free ride?”
“Nope. The team gets eighty-five scholarships a year. That means second and third stringers, too.”
Tuition at Hart is expensive. A full scholarship is a big deal.
“Your family must be so proud of you. Not to mention happy about all the money you’re saving them.”
“Yeah, I definitely get a lot of family cred for that. My dad died when I was a kid, and my mom raised my sister and me on her own. The football scholarship means my sister can go to college without taking on too much debt.”
“You were raised by a single mom?”
He stops walking and looks down at me. The sun is setting in front of us, and a shaft of light makes us both blink.
“You sound surprised,” he says.
“I guess I am. I mean…I guess I would have expected a guy raised by a single mother to be more…to be less…”
I remember our ground rule and stop myself. Whatever I ended up saying would have included something about feminism, and that counts as politics.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. Should we keep going?”
“Nope.” He gestures behind me. “We’re here.”
I turn and look.
It’s a vegan café that’s popular with Hart students. I’ve never actually eaten here, since I’m a pretty serious carnivore, but I’m willing to give it a go.
“I’ve always wanted to try this place,” I say, and Daniel looks surprised.
“You’ve never been here before?”
“No. Why?”
“I just thought—” He pauses. “Aren’t you from San Francisco?”
I nod.
“I guess I thought someone from San Francisco would be into, uh…”
“Healthy food?”
“Yeah.”
I grin at him. “Nope. Not at all. But I like trying new things and I’m happy to give this place a shot. A lot of my friends love it.”
Daniel’s still looking down at me, but now his expression changes. It gets sort of…soft.
“What?” I ask, a little nervously. There’s something intense about a really big, really tall football player type looking at you like that.
We’re facing each other, and now he reaches out to touch the daisy I tucked behind my ear. His fingertips brush the side of my neck, and I shiver.
“It’s just the way the sun’s hitting you right now. It makes you look like an angel.”
The feeling in my chest from the other day comes back. A kind of melting sensation right behind my breastbone.
I don’t know what to say. I feel heat coming into my cheeks, and I know I’m blushing.
“Should we go in?”
“Sure.”
He opens the door, follows me inside, and asks the waitress who comes to greet us if we can have the little table by the window.
He’s really pretty competent at this whole date thing, I’m thinking to myself.
Then I look at the menu.
I struggle to eat vegetables at the best of times, and this is all vegetables. Roasted cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, squash soup, black bean stew, vegan tempeh Reubens, and every kind of salad imaginable.
I hate salad.
But Daniel brought me daisies, he said I looked like an angel, and he picked this place because he thought I’d like it. I’m going to enjoy this meal if it’s the last thing I do.
“This all looks great,” I lie.
“Yeah,” Daniel agrees. He pauses. “What’s tempeh?”
“No idea.”
“Huh. Okay.” He sets his menu down on the table. “So what are you getting?”
I look down and name the first thing I see.
“Spicy tofu lettuce wraps.”
I do like spicy food. Maybe the spiciness will help me get down the tofu.
“That sounds good. I think I’ll try the tempeh Reuben, even though we don’t know what tempeh is. I love Reubens.”
We order. And then, after the waitress leaves, we sit and look at each other.
Daniel is so different from the guys I’ve always gone for. Even with the sexy tousled hair and the sexy short beard, he exudes…I don’t know. Uprightness, or something. And yet…
His shoulders are so broad and so packed with muscle they’re straining a little against his shirt. There’s a power to Daniel mixed in with his clean-cut vibe. Physical power, of course, but more than that.
Whatever it is, it’s not a quality I’m used to seeing in a guy.
At least a minute has passed with neither of us saying anything. The silence is starting to feel awkward. But the more seconds that tick by, the more I feel like I don’t know what to say.
We didn’t have any trouble talking after drama class. Or, well, arguing. But we didn’t have any trouble talking on the walk from Bracton, either, and that wasn’t arguing.
But now, for some reason, my mind is blank.
The lighting is a little too bright for date ambience. The wooden chairs aren’t very comfortable. And they don’t serve alcohol, which has lubricated so many first dates throughout the centuries.
&n
bsp; Not that I’d be able to order it even if they did serve alcohol. I’d feel pretty weird pulling out my fake ID in front of a guy who doesn’t drink.
A wave of depression goes through me. Daniel and I really don’t have anything in common, do we?
Then he leans forward. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you decide to come out with me tonight?”
God, why did I?
Of course I know the answer. Because I’m into you.
But there’s no way I’m going to admit that.
“For the free food,” I say, going with flip over truthful.
He smiles. “I’ll take that for now. But maybe by the end of the night you’ll tell me the real reason.”
Doubtful.
The waitress approaches with our dinner, which provides a welcome diversion. Or at least, I think the diversion is welcome until I actually taste it.
It’s spicy. But it turns out that the spiciness doesn’t help with the tofu, which tastes a little like chewing on the inside of your own cheek.
I chew gamely, but with my stomach already a little tense it’s a losing battle. I don’t even want to swallow the mess in my mouth.
I do the discreet spit-into-your-napkin thing, hoping Daniel doesn’t notice. But when I glance over at him it’s obvious he’s got troubles of his own.
He’s taken a bite of his tempeh Reuben, and the expression on his face is everything I’m feeling and hoping I’m not showing.
When he sees me looking at him he chews and swallows.
“This is pretty good,” he says.
A lie. Not a very good lie, either.
And just like that, my depression is gone—replaced by a sudden wave of affection.
It’s weird, though. Because the affection is for both of us.
Be Yourself Tonight.
I point at my plate and then at his.
“This is bullshit.”
He blinks. “What?”
“It’s not food. It’s an abomination. Don’t you dare take another bite of that thing.”
“I—”
“Hang on a sec.”
I pull my wallet from my little beaded purse, fish out a twenty, and lay it on the table.
“We’re doing a reset, Daniel. Jimmy’s Pub is a block away. You’re going to buy me a hamburger, and you’re going to buy yourself a real Reuben to wash the taste of tempeh out of your mouth forever.”
Tamsin Page 8
