The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

9 - Pre-Date Panic

I spend the rest of the week thinking about Friday. And pre-dates. And my hotter-than-hot next door neighbor, and how the very idea of being alone with him sends my heart into a tailspin.

Hartley does her best to distract me. Every morning since my arrival begins the same way: she drags me out of bed, I complain about getting up, we dress in the dark, shimmy down the side of her house, and run for who knows how long because she still refuses to tell me.

"You said it wasn't that bad," she accuses on day four.

"It was a runner's high," I shoot back. "I didn't know what I was saying!"

By Friday afternoon, I'm a bundle of nerves.

"It's only a walk around the neighborhood," Hartley reminds me. "What do you think he's going to do? Rip off your clothes and try to have sex with you on the sidewalk?"

I lift my chin indignantly. "I don't know. Maybe?"

She snorts. "You should be so lucky." She twists a kinky blonde curl around her finger. "Aren't you going to wear any makeup? You're as white as my behind."

"I guess not everyone can be as lucky as you."

Despite my Native American DNA, I resemble a ghost year-round, and the one time I attempted self-tanning lotion resulted in a streaky, orange hot mess. I vowed then to never again subject myself to that level of humiliation.

"Here," she says. "Let me help you with some blush."

"I don't want to!"

Hartley cocks her head, her hair tumbling over one shoulder. "Don't be such a baby. All the cool kids are doing it," she teases.

I'm not being a baby. It's just that I've never worn makeup before, and I'm not sure I trust Hartley to do the honors.

"At least try some lip gloss."

I cave just to shut her up.

At a quarter to six, we're staring out the front window waiting for Sully to arrive. "How do I look?" I ask for the millionth time.

Hartley inspects me carefully. "You're the most beautiful girl in the history of all pre-dates. Sully's gonna flip when he sees you."

"I'm only the most beautiful girl because this is probably the first pre-date known to man." I glance down at my navy blue sundress and give it a whirl. "Do you really think I look all right?"

"I know you do. You're exactly his type. Stop worrying!"

But it's the 'you're exactly his type' comment that punches me in the gut. If I'm Sully's type, then that means he's liked other girls before me. What if they liked him back? Come to think of it, he's way too attractive and confident to be a—gulp—virgin. Oh, God. Why is this only occurring to me now?

But now is not the time for a freak out. As it is, I already want to hurl the fried eggplant sandwich Jolie made for dinner. The last thing I need is more things to obsess over.

Hartley points out the window. "There he is!"

I follow her gaze and find Sully walking down the sidewalk, his golden waves reflecting the evening sun. He's wearing a solid black T-shirt that's hugging his chest in all the right places, and brown cargo shorts. And just as promised, he's brought along a chaperone: Oscar the Dog.

"Oh my God!" My heart pounds as if it's going to bust out of my sternum and make a giant mess. "I can't do this! Tell him I'm sick."

"I am not telling him you're sick!" Hartley turns me to face her and smooths the long brown layers around my face. "Everything's fine, Gwen. It's going to be the best pre-date ever!"