Page 62 of Your Rule to Break
I’m looking at my keeper rack and rifling through the price tags when Zack says, “This is on me. Don’t worry about it.”
“No. You’re not buying me clothes.”
“Why not?” he shrugs. “This was my date idea, and I tempted you with all these beautiful clothes. Let me pay.”
Anxiety fills my gut. Guilt creeps into my cheeks. I feel bad for telling Zack no, but I’ll inherently feel terrible if I let him buy me what’s on the rack.
“I am a legit millionaire. Don’t want to brag,” he’s being sarcastic and trying to make me feel better, “but my contract extension last yearwaspublic.” He puts his hands in his pockets and closes the space between us.
I press my lips down hard enough on my teeth that I’m afraid I’ll taste copper.
“You’re already going to travel internationally for the wedding. It’s a lot to ask.”
Zack rolls his eyes. “You mean taking a long weekend trip with you? With beautiful weather? The beach? All-inclusive? That’sdefinitelynot a lot to ask.”
I shake my head slowly, trying to find the words to help him understand. Zack is always so light, agreeable. He can make a joke out of anything, but I need him to know what this means to me.
“I have a thing about money, and I’ll spare you the details for another day. I’ll let you do this for me today, but this can’t be something you do all the time, ok?”
“Not to interrupt, but if there’s something wrong with the zipper on this,” Mia touches the dress, “we’ll get it fixed but it’s actually no cost. All I ask is that you tag the designer on any social media posts from the wedding,” she offers, her smile sweet.
Wow. The offer washes over me and I’m immediately thankful. “That’s really kind of you. I’d be happy to do that.”
“What about me? Any deals for me?” Zack asks.
She scoffs, “Mr. Millionaire? I think you’ll pay full price today.” She winks at him, and I can’t help but laugh and shake my head.
“Truffle fries are alwaysthe answer,” Zack says, dipping a fry in aioli and popping it in his mouth. “Plus, they taste better because you paid for them.”
We’re at one of our favorite burger spots in the city. It’s a hole in the wall, under the radar, and that’s how we like it. So much so I won’t let Zack post a selfie of us here. I don’t want toruin this place.
I take a bite of my bacon brie cheeseburger, with granny apple slices and pickles, just as Zack’s phone rings.
“It’s my mom. Give me just a second.” He stands from the booth, answers it, and walks outside, right in front of the restaurant.
I try my best not to hog all of the French fries while he’s on the phone, which requires serious restraint on my part.
Instead, I think about the dressing room. I mean, let’s be real, I’m never going to forget what happened tonight. The date. Zack. Us fooling around, or almost, when we weren’t alone. That’s not my typical date behavior.
I’ve never been one to want someone so bad that you just let yourself give in, even if it’s only a little, when others may be around. But maybe it’s that I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want Zack.
The typical weirdness of being intimate with someone feels different between the two of us. In the situations where I’d typically be terrified to show parts of my body or wonder if this or that is the right thing to do, I’m thinking about how much I want more of him, of us. There’s no room for doubt or hyper-fixation.
Now, will I overthink the hell out of all of this when I’m back in my own apartment? Yes. But that’s nothing new. I feel like there’s more space for me to enjoy the small moments, like my mind has the room to do so.
I lean back into the booth, close my eyes, and check in—just like my therapist taught me. I feel pretty damn good. I’ve never done a shopping date, let alone something like tonight. Zack put in some effort, thinking about how I needed a dress for the wedding, and finding a way to be involved.
Zack slides back in the booth, his forehead scrunched.
“Is everything alright?” I ask.
He takes a long drink of water, still not meeting my eyes. His phone buzzes, he checks it, and then puts it in his pocket before responding.
“Things are… weird?” he answers, his eyes finding mine.
“What do you mean?”
He shakes his head and says, “My mom called because she doesn’t know where my dad is. She thought maybe he was with me. I couldn’t tell if that’s because he told her that or if she was just trying to figure things out.”