Fake It List

Twelve

Reysha lifted the water bottle to her lips, grateful she was alone in her apartment so no one could hear the glugging sound of her swallowing. It was like she'd run a marathon in the heat, weighted down by blankets. She was sweating in too many places. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Sweating could be brought on by medical conditions. She just couldn't think of which ones. Stop. Reysha set the empty water bottle down. She pulled in a half breath because that's all her lungs would allow. One. Two. Three. Four. She imagined her hand slipping out of Owen's because of sweat. Stop. One. Two. Three. Four. Five, six, seven. She leaned against the counter, her lungs expanding. She'd been on dates before, so the level of anxiety pumping through her was unexpected. This one comes with a hell of a lot of pressure.

She went back to the bathroom, closed the door, and stood in front of the full-length mirror. Once she made it clear that she wasn't wearing anything low-cut, see-through, sequined, or with any type of feathers, Stacey had taken the shopping seriously.

Which was why she at least felt good about her appearance. She'd gone with a pair of dark grey pants and a thin, pale, pink sweater with a wide neckline. She'd have preferred black or grey, but Stacey wouldn't negotiate on that one. The top hung from her slight frame nicely, enhancing what little shape she had. Stacey—who favoured the curvy side—always lamented Reysha's slender shape, but there were plenty of times in her life that she'd have liked to fill out a top the way her friend did. Grass is always greener.

Her phone rang. She looked down to where she'd set it on the counter. Of course, Stacey would FaceTime her. She pressed Accept.

"Let me see," Stacey said, her face filling the screen.

Reysha turned and faced the mirror so her friend could see.

"Good. Hair looks great down. You should wear it that way more. Subtle makeup. Add a bit of that gloss before you leave the house, and don't chew it off. That sweater looks kick-ass on you. Your boobs look hot."

Because I'm sweating everywhere. Reysha smirked. "If only it were you, I was trying to impress tonight."

"Too late for that. Besides, you don't have to impress anyone. Just be yourself."

"I'm going to try to be a little less myself than I am right now," Reysha said, leaving the bathroom.

"Hives?"

"Not yet. Too much sweat."

"It doesn't show." Stacey scrunched her brows on the screen. She was really looking.

"Nerves, one to ten?"

"Twelve. I might be sick." She touched her hand to her stomach.

"Look at me," Stacey said, her tone sharpening.

"Stacey. I'm literally looking right at you."

Undeterred by Reysha's sarcasm, she nodded. "That's right, now listen to me. You deserve to have a bunch of good-looking, fun bachelors take you out and treat you right. This doesn't have to go anywhere. Focus on tonight. Just tonight. The very worst thing that will happen is you won't enjoy the evening, so you don't go out with him again."

"Wow. You really have not considered all the other terrible things that could happen."

Stacey sighed, but not in exasperation. "Give it to me."

"Okay. He could be a pervert, a weirdo. I said no face tattoos but he has other ones and might just be waiting for the right moment to shave his head and get his skull inked. He could have a girlfriend, a wife. Both. A slinky underwear fetish. You know I hate thongs. He could be duller than my Broadcasting History course was even though his hobbies included zip-lining and hiking. Oh my God, he could want to go zip-lining."