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He calls on the fourth day. I’m much too much of a nervous wreck to answer when I see his name pop up on my phone’s screen, because it proves that I definitely did meet him and I held him in my arms underneath me and kissed him and left marks on his neck. And there are big consequences to that. Huge consequences, so I don't answer and he goes to voicemail but doesn't leave one because I don't get a text from my voicemail service.
He texts instead, all very prim and proper and polite which is easier in a way, because I can respond at my leisure and not be distracted by his voice and by noises and by everything.
‘hey, you must be busy right now, but if you're free tomorrow we could meet up for lunch, or dinner. whichever suits you. i’ll pick you up.’
As I am brilliant at words and at communicating efficiently, I send back the only possible answer.
‘Lunch suits me.’
I'll have to find something nice to wear. Something that isn't a polo and spats. Like, uh. A shirt. And um. Not spats.
I don't know, I'm not one for variety, what I've got is easy and it suits me. It's a plain polo shirt, easily replaceable and the collar keeps the worst of the sun off my neck when I don't want it, black jeans look good in any situation and they're practical. What more could I want from my clothes?
Well now I want something a bit more. I could take a leaf from James’ book and find a dress shirt. But before tomorrow? I don't fancy going to the shops this late at night.
I'm just as nervous and uneasy with my choice of clothing when I'm getting dressed the next day after a shower. I've done everything I can think of, I've shaved, I've brushed my teeth and combed my hair, and double checked to make sure I've put deodorant on. And it's too soon before I'm ready and the wait until he arrives is torturous.
I'm naturally awkward and uneasy when he does arrive, fumbling through greetings and courtesies, talking as well as I am able, which in all fairness is pretty well once I realise that he seems to find my quips and comments humourous. He drives us to a café for lunch, and while we wait for our food to be brought out, he mentions how lucky we are that there isn't anyone who has recognised him, and that he'd hate to be disturbed right now. It's a nice gesture, I guess, but unnecessary. I understand fully that he's a well recognised figure and that it's inevitable that people are going to approach him.
Lucky I'm not prone to jealousy, right?
The waitress lingers a moment when she places the plates down, I got a sandwich and he got a salad. It's pretty warm today so I can see the sense, I guess. But it's too fiddly for me to eat.
When she doesn't leave right away, I thank her curtly and that makes her scurry off. Lunch is a quiet affair with an occasional word or two. But not awkward, which surprises me.
After paying, D chuckles at his receipt a little and I glimpse the scrawl of blue ink where the girl wrote her phone number, and I almost feel a little bad. She wasn't unattractive. But I have exactly what I want, so I definitely don't feel bad in the slightest when he scrunches it up and tosses it in the trash.
“I hope you don't mind, but I kind of have a photoshoot in about an hour, and they're all okay with you sitting in if you want to come, but they're pretty boring otherwise.”
There is no way I'd ever complain about this. I’m just happy to spend more time with him, being at a photoshoot is just an added bonus. I agree quickly.
It's held in a nondescript office building, and takes both a lot longer and a lot less time than I thought it would. And he's right about the being boring part. The crew are a bunch of stick-in-the-muds, none of them say much more than necessary, and they're all so solemn.
It's actually a relief when it's over, I didn't get to talk to him as much as he seemed to have hoped. After that, he takes me home, which is a relief because I'm getting kind of tired. I invite him in for a drink when we arrive, but he declines, which I'm also grateful for.
“Uh, yeah okay. See you then.” I suddenly feel awkward, and when I move to get out he catches my wrist and pulls me back to kiss me briefly.
Lacking restraint as I do, I’m all too happy to lean against him and indulge for a few minutes, or until he pulls away and lets me go.
“See you next time?” He asks.
I nod dumbly, unable to believe he wants there to be a next time.
Once he's left me on the curb, I bolt upstairs in record time, elated and jittery. I have to tell Cal what happened and then I have to calm down or I won't be able to sleep.
Cal is very understanding when I'm barely coherent, rambling a little to him. He just listens, smiling and quiet, and attentive as always.
Afterwards, Dave isn't quite as thrilled when I tell him we’re strifing. He's getting better, faster and more consistent, but it isn't enough to stop me from disarming him at my leisure. He takes his sword when he goes back inside and I practice a little longer until I'm not buzzing, before going in for dinner and a much needed shower.