Free For All You Have Left by Laura Miller Page B

matter.

    Chapter Twelve
    Barbeque
     
     
    I t’s 5:45. I literally just walked in the door.
    I throw my bag onto the couch and run to the closet in my room. There’s a bright sundress staring back at me. I grab it and change out of the slacks and button-up top I wore to work and into the dress. I spot a pair of flip flops in the corner of the room. I hurry over to the shoes and force my feet into them before I run to the bathroom, throw on a pair of stud earrings and touch up my make-up. My hair is up. I take it down and spray some hair spray on it. But I think most of the spray goes into the air and then into my nose and mouth instead. I’m coughing and fanning the air with my hand when I hear a knock at the door. And instantly, I feel my heart skip a beat. I look into the mirror and then at the mess I’ve made with my make-up on the counter. I ignore it—there’s no time—and I quickly grab some lip gloss and shove it into a clutch. And within seconds, I’m making my way to the door. But just before I open it, I stop and run my fingers through my hair one more time. I’m nervous. I’ve told myself all day that this is not a date. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly when I agreed to it. This can’t be a date. I can’t date. And he’s just a friend—practically a stranger.
    I pull open the door, and Jorgen immediately eyes me up and down once.
    “You look...good.” He has a wide grin on his face. I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or sarcastic.
    I let out a frazzled sigh. “I just got home fifteen minutes ago.”
    “Well, you look great,” he says.
    I can tell it’s definitely sincere this time, even though “great” isn’t exactly what I’d call myself right now.
    “You look nice too,” I say, well aware that I’m starting to blush.
    He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts and a gray, fitted tee shirt—one in which I can’t help but notice his muscles.
    “Well, you ready?” he asks.
    I try to hide my bashful state. I still haven’t figured out why his muscles make me feel so unraveled.
    “Yeah,” I say.
    I reach back and grab the keys off the counter and pull the door closed behind me before following him down the stairs and to the parking lot.
    “I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “My truck’s in the shop. I’ve only got my bike right now.”
    I look up from shoving my keys into my clutch and stop cold.
    “I have an extra helmet,” he says. “It was my sister’s.”
    I don’t say anything. I just stare at the bike and then at him holding the helmet.
    “ Ada?” I think I hear him say after a moment.
    “Um,” I stutter. “You know what? We can just take my car.” I reach inside my clutch and recover my keys. “It’s not a problem,” I quickly rattle off.
    He’s quiet, and a few long seconds pass us by before I eventually look up and find his eyes. They look sad or confused or something.
    “It’s safe,” he tries to assure me. “I promise. The barbeque is just right down the road. I’ll go slow. It’ll be fun.”
    My eyes fall heavy to the ground at my feet.
    “I’m wearing a dress,” I say, sheepishly.
    “Oh,” he says and then stops. “Right. I’m sorry. I should have said something earlier.”
    “It’s fine,” I manage to get out. “I’ll just drive. It’s not a big deal. I’m parked over here.”
    I command my legs to move, and I start out toward my car.
    “I’m really sorry, Ada,” he says, as he catches up to me. “I didn’t mean for you to drive. I just thought it would be fun to ride the bike.”
    “It’s really fine,” I say, forcing a laugh. “It’s really not the end of my world if I drive. There’s no reason for you to be sorry.”
    I stop at the car, and he does too, and quickly, his eyes lock onto mine. And all of a sudden, I can’t seem to look away or move or do anything, as I watch a soft, crooked smile edge up his face.
    “I can’t help it, Ada. You really shouldn’t have shown up at my door without pants on the first