Page 18 of A Love Most Fatal
“O-kay,” he repeats and with one last nod walks away. I watch him go for just a moment, not entirely sure how I ended up here.
7
NATE
I tryto keep my after-hours time as carefree as possible, particularly Friday nights when the most adventurous thing I’ll plan is the rare occasion I can convince Jenna to go to trivia night with me. Now though, I am as unchill as I’ve ever been and am most definitely freaking the hell out. I can’t stop checking my hair, even though it looks the same as it did the last time I looked, and we’re going on ten minutes that I’ve paced around my apartment waiting for Vanessa.
Vanessa is hot, like stupid hot. She is hotter than me, I am aware. I would probably have to be an Avenger, or a fucking vampire to be as hot as she is. And despite trying to bribe me like some sort of criminal or nefarious millionaire, she apologized and has been friendly ever since. Charming, even.
Hot, and charming. Deadly combination.
We’ve texted three times in the last couple days, and I feel like I’m seventeen again. The first time my phone pinged with a message from her I called Jenna back-to-back as many times as it took until she grumpily picked up. She had no constructive advice for me, all her message ideas either too flirty or too stiff.
The text exchanges were brief. I gave her my address, told her she could wear whatever she wanted, but I for one wouldbe in my best. I over-thought this one to death before clarifying that I was joking and would not be wearing my very best, just my almost-best, and whatever she wanted to wear would be perfect. But probably not white.
She’d sent back a “Haha” and I overanalyzed it for an hour.
Ranger lets out a huff on the couch, tired of my anxious steps, and I walk over to pat him on the head. He’s an old dog but a good dog, maybe the best dog. A terrier mix, the runt of his litter that I have to bathe way too frequently now, but he is a good dog.
He hates the pacing, which is fair. I suppose I would too if he was the one pacing.
I check my hair one more time and crunch down on three orange tic-tacs.
I’m in the process of smelling my armpits one last time when my buzzer goes off indicating that she’s downstairs. Or at least I hope it’s her because I can only look in the mirror and fuss so long before I start making things worse.
“Who is it?” I ask into the intercom.
“Ness,” she says, then corrects herself, “Vanessa.”
“I’ll come right down.”
“Actually, can I come up and use your bathroom?”
I freeze and try to recall the last time I cleaned the bathroom and catalog every embarrassing thing that could exist there.
“Sure,” I say and buzz her in.
The elevator never works, so she’s got four flights of stairs to climb, which gives me at least ninety seconds to speed clean my entire house. I start on the bathroom, shoving everything on my counter into the drawer. This makes it look too clean, suspiciously clean, so I grab the hand lotion and deodorant and place them back. It can only be a good thing that she know I am moisturized and smell good.
I’m thankful that I’m not a very messy person, but she will have to walk through my bedroom to get to the bathroom, so I pull straight my comforter and kick my slippers under the bed.
I am also debating whether or not the slip of her nickname means thatIcan call her that but decide that best practice would be not. It’s then that I hear the knock at my door.
I give Ranger one more look before opening the door and good lord, she looks gorgeous.Hothot, Vanessa is wearing a short, black dress. Her lips are painted deep red, and her long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, no flyaways.
“Vanessa,” I say finally, and she stands a bit taller.
“Hello,” she says, and steps past me into my apartment. We look at each other for a moment too long and Ranger barks at her feet, startling the both of us.
“Christ,” she whispers, looking down at the dog. I kneel down to scratch behind his ears before I pick him up. “What is that?”
“This is Ranger,” I say. “He’s really sweet, just wanted to introduce himself.”
Vanessa looks unsure about the said sweetness of the dog, which I cannot blame her for. Ranger has not aged all that gracefully. I can admit, even, that he is a bit ugly, but I think he’s ugly in the way that makes him all the more endearing and precious. After another moment of the two assessing each other, she nods.
“Good to meet you, Ranger,” she says. I deposit him back on the ground and Ranger’s tail thumps before he meanders over to his bed, circling three times before settling.
I show the way to the bathroom and do some breathing exercises while I wait for her to come out. I lean on my kitchen counter aiming for casual when I hear the toilet flush, but that feels wrong, so I stand and prop one hand on my hip, which is somehow much worse. I end up crossing my arms over my chestas she comes out of the room and can only pray that I look normal.