Tessa

“It’s been over thirty minutes, and he still hasn’t texted me back,” I say to Maggie on the phone. I’m leaning against the headboard in my hotel room with the white comforter surrounding me like a cocoon. “I shouldn’t have listened to you. Now I’ll never hear from him again.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and glance at the screen, double-checking in case a text arrived within the last couple seconds. Nope. There’s been nothing from Barclay since I mentioned my stupid drink date. Big mistake.

“He asked what you were doing tonight for a reason,” Maggie says in her usual, easy-breezy way. “Believe me, he wants you, and probably freaked out that he’s not your date.”

“Remember, he kicked me to the curb.” At least, that’s how it felt yesterday when he drove off and left me standing on the sidewalk. It still stings.

“Then you find chocolate-covered strawberries in your room. He comps all your food at the hotel. Gives you the direct emails of executives to help you find a job,” she rattles off the ways Barclay’s shown he might care for me, but it doesn’t make his goodbye any less painful. “I have good money on him showing up before the weekend’s over. After all, he owns the hotel, along with the keys to the rooms.”

“Like he’s going to just bust in here. Believe me, we’re over before it even started. I know it’s the virgin thing. Different guy. Same scenario.”

“He’s into you and will come around. Please, just trust me, Tessa. You’ll kiss your Prince Charming, but first, you have to meet a frog named Trevor for a drink.”

“He’s more a toad.” I close my eyes and shake my head. I hate having to meet Trevor, especially after Barclay’s warning, but I’m going to keep my word so he’ll stay silent. “Promise you’ll remember to call me at nine o’clock with horrible, date-ending news. I don’t care what you have to make up. I can’t be in that guy’s presence more than thirty minutes, tops.”

“I’ve got your back,” she says, and I pray she does.

We end our call. Now, it’s time to get ready for this stupid drink date. I decide to wear my dark skinny jeans and a cream-colored top with pink lace overlay. It’s sleeveless with spaghetti straps. The bodice cuts across my breasts, showing a non-slutty amount of cleavage, and the hem flows free around my waist. I slip on a pair of nude strappy heeled sandals to complete the look.

I wore subtle makeup for job-hunting today, so I need to up my game for the evening. I apply some muted brown eye shadow for depth, and swipe on a little blush for a healthy pink glow. Next, I comb through my hair with my fingers, then give myself a once over in the bathroom mirror. 

There’s a lot of bare skin showing and I don’t want to give Mr. Spears the wrong idea, so I grab my cream twill jacket to cover my shoulders. It’s stylish and fitted at the waist. For the finishing touch, I add a sheer pink lip gloss. Good enough.

As I grab the door handle to exit my room, I hear a text coming in on my phone. It’s probably Maggie. I glance at the screen and lean against the door, my heart fluttering. Barclay.

Not happy about your date.

Holy crap. Not only did he answer me back, he told me how he felt. I smile because I worried he didn’t care, but he must, or he wouldn’t be unhappy.

I feel all bouncy inside with nerves and indecision, but my date with Trevor isn’t a real date like he probably thinks. It’s just what Maggie told me to say. This time, I’ll use my own words and no games. I don’t know how to play them anyway.

Just drinks and I’m ending it early.

The text bubbling ripples a few seconds, and I wait for his reply.

Why?

He’s not you.

No he’s not.

I wish he were …

Me too.

I don’t know how to respond, so I wait a couple minutes for him to continue and fill in the blanks behind his comment, but nothing comes. I take a deep breath and exhale the disappointment. It’s time to make my way down to the hotel bar.

I arrive in the lobby at the exact time I told Mr. Spears I’d meet him. If he was early, I didn’t want to spend a moment more than I had to with him. It’s going to feel like an eternity until Maggie calls with some concocted catastrophe requiring me to leave anyway.

I check my phone one last time as I stop at the restaurant entrance off the lobby. Nothing shows up from Barclay. He doesn’t like the idea of me with anyone, but doesn’t make any attempt to be with me either. Does he realize these back and forth moods of his are tearing up my emotions? Now I know why people call these unrequited feelings a crush.

Another sigh leaves my lips as I peek into the restaurant and see Mr. Spears leaning against the bar. He’s dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved gray shirt, and carries himself in a polished style. If I saw him like this from afar for the first time, I’d have rated him a solid nine on the hot, older guy scale. Problem is, I’ve heard him speak in veiled sexual references while his unwelcomed eyes touched me all over.

I take a deep breath and place one foot in front of the other. It’s time to get this night under way.