Chapter Text
For someone who’s never been wildly successful in his dating life, Jake Peralta has been on a lot of first dates.
Not a lot of second dates. Only a few third dates. Four dates is practically a serious relationship in his eyes, and by then he can count the number of those on one hand.
(Four fingers.)
(Fine, three.)
He’s well experienced in first dates, though. He knows how to dazzle someone with a gruesome cop story, quote Die Hard in a variety of accents ranging from German to Canadian and he can even impress said date with an only half terrible pick-up line. Yeah, Jake is great at first dates.
Or so he tells himself as he keeps walking lap after lap around his apartment like a captive animal in a too small cage.
He’s got this in the bag. He’s wearing a suit which he is ninety-seven percent sure has no food stains on it, he even got a haircut after work to look his best, he’s made his bed and cleaned up the worst of his mess in case they would make their way to his apartment after the dinner.
Just for a drink, of course. He knows about the rules.
(But he did check the date on his condoms, because in the very unlikely case Amy would be up for some rule-breaking later, he suspects accidentally knocking her up could be a rather awkward beginning to their… whatever it is. Light and breezy.)
Jake might have been on first dates before, but he’s never been on a first date with Amy Santiago, and right now it’s making all the difference to the way his heart is threatening to jump out of his chest when he thinks about the fact that he might get to kiss her again tonight.
It’s been effortful enough for him today. As it turns out, kissing Amy Santiago three times in less than twenty-four hours did not make him think about it less.
If anything it’s the opposite. He’s thinking even more about the feel of her lips on his now that he’s lived to experience it, making him spend his work day replaying the memory of those wondrous seconds and fighting to resist the temptation of asking her to help him with something in the evidence locker again.
Kissing her the first time was too hasty and disorienting to fully register what he was doing. Kissing her the second time was sudden and blazingly intense, the way she pressed herself against him sending vibrations through his body, for a moment making him forget they were undercover. Kissing her the third time was soft and all too short, giving life to the cliche of something feeling like coming home.
He never took her for that good of a kisser.
Boyle has sent him a whole of forty-three texts about his invented date with the gym floozy, half of them asking Jake to reconsider and urging him to ask out Amy instead.
He’s just about to text Boyle back, telling him thank you but we’re just colleagues and it will remain that way , when he gets another text.
From: Amy Santiago
I’m on my way. See you in 15?
It takes three tries before his hands stop shaking enough to send the right words, and he can hear the sound of his own heartbeat when he presses send, but the nervousness is a small price to pay for the euphoria when she sends him a single smiling emoji back.
Man, he’s so screwed.
For someone who normally has her outfit for any occasion planned out the second she knows she’ll be attending it, Amy Santiago is having a lot of second thoughts about what to wear tonight. The entirety of her date-appropriate dress collection has transitioned from hanging neatly on their hangers to laying much less neatly thrown across her bed in what could almost resemble a mess, except for the fact that she’s a Santiago and thereby never creates a mess.
Maybe Jake is having his influence on her already.
(No, that would be insane. They’re not even dating. They’re light and breezy and have clearly established so. It's casual.)
She’s still cross-legged on the floor in her underwear (one of her nice, lacy, matching sets - solely for the confidence, she tells herself), biting her nails and half considering a dose of her anxiety medication. This kind of stress about choosing an appropriate outfit hasn’t happened to her since Captain Holt’s birthday party over a year ago, and she hasn’t missed it for a split second.
Tapping her fingers against her temple, she tries to remember what she ended up wearing that night. The memory of a red dress appears - a sleeveless item she rarely ends up using despite how much she enjoys the way it falls on her body, accentuating both her arms and her chest in a way that makes her feel oddly confident. She even has vague memories of noticing the way Jake’s eyes lingered on her in it for brief moments during the evening. They’re moments she put down to coincidence and the instinctive observation skills of a trained detective when they happened, but she wonders now if maybe there was something else there and whether he was aware of it or not.
(Did he already wish then that something could happen between them, romantic-stylez?)
(Did she?)
The red sleeveless dress would be a great safe card and perfect for their date. If only she hadn’t lent it to Rosa when her friend asked if she could borrow it for a date night with Marcus a week earlier, because it still hasn’t made its way back to her closet and Amy knows calling Rosa about it would somehow entail her admitting who her date is. Not happening.
There is, however, another red dress in a sleek material amongst the ones on her bed. This one isn’t sleeveless, but it's the same fierce color, tight-fitting and ends halfway over her thighs.
It’s actually not too bad a choice, she realizes when she’s doing the few last touches of her makeup. The smooth fabric clings to her body in a way she’d forgotten since the last time she wore it, highlighting features that boosts her confidence a little and calms her speeding heartbeat somewhat.
If she’s lucky, she might get to kiss Jake Peralta again tonight.
Or more.
She knows he’s always been a rule-breaker, after all.
(And she shouldn't be thinking that way, because she was the one who suggested the rule and then fought to appear unaffected when she noticed the way he struggled to hide his disappointment, but it’s crossing her mind nonetheless.)
She’d love to trust him blindly with being on time, but she’s worked with him too many years and knows better, so she sends him a text before leaving.
To: Jake Peralta
I’m on my way. See you in 15?
His response comes just as she’s getting in the car.
From: Jake Peralta
Can’t wait
Amy sends a single smiling emoji back and tries to stifle the grin appearing on her lips.
(She’s unsuccessful.)
Yeah, she’s screwed.