Page 67 of Tasty Cherry

Medium term?

I have no idea.

My longest relationship was three months, as a freshman in high school. My curves were in all the right places then, and the boys were trying for anyone they could get.

We did stuff, all the kissing and touching things. But Brock had the fear of God put into him about getting a girl pregnant, and he had some weird concern about condoms having holes.

Anyway, we hadn’t lasted long enough to get that far. And the freshmen quickly settled into their cliques. I was a band geek, and that served me well with friendships and things to do. There was always a game or a pep rally or a fundraiser to be involved with.

But nobody in our friend group dated. Not one-on-one.

I didn’t go to prom, not even with the group. I looked for a dress, but the style at the time was sparkly and very, very short, and I couldn’t pull it off. Mom tried to put me in more traditional things, but I looked like a toddler trying on old lady costumes.

So, I didn’t go.

It was fine.

I bet Sebastian went to prom. I bet he looked incredible in his tux, and he had the most beautiful girl on his arm.

Self-consciousness bites me again. I mostly do fine, but in moments like this, the old fears rear up.

I smack my hand on the steering wheel as I rev through an intersection. “You are bold. You are beautiful. You are what you’re meant to be.” This rolls into the lyrics of “This is Me” and I start singing that until my phone lets me know that I have only a quarter mile until my turn.

Then the nerves come rushing back.

As I pull up to the gorgeous two-story house Sebastian directed me to, I feel struck by everything I am not.

I am not successful. Not yet. I am not in my thirties or have things figured out. I might never figure things out.

I have never been in a house like this, much less dated someone who owned one.

Inferiority washes over me, and it’s all I can do not to turn around.

The exterior of the house is made of stones carefully fitted together in a beautiful tapestry of earth tones. Behind it, the mountains loom large and majestic.

Above the oak entrance is a balcony with two glass double doors. The driveway is long and curves in front of the porch. I roll slowly up to the front.

Of course Sebastian has a nice house. He’s bound to be very well paid as the GM of the hotel. He’s got experience behind him, years of working and saving.

I have student loans, a free studio apartment, and feel excited when I can buy a new outfit.

We are a mismatch in every way.

He is casual and experienced with sex. I know nothing.

He’s managed a million real-world situations. I freak out over calls about my car’s extended warranty.

I stop in front of the door, but I don’t put the car in park. The brake feels liquid beneath my foot, like maybe I should hit the gas and take off.

But then it’s too late. Sebastian comes outside with a wave.

He looks like the night I met him, no longer in the suit and jacket. With the warm weather, he’s switched to a short-sleeved button-down in pale yellow, and jeans.

He’s not wearing shoes.

How can this be real? This man? His house? This situation?

When I don’t move, he tilts his head. “You okay?” I can’t hear him, sealed up in the car, but I get what he’s said.