ACHES

4. cold

I walked home, his credit card making my purse feel ten pounds heavier. He was probably buying a coffee now, patting his pockets and panicking, where's my fucking credit card! He'd think I stole it, and call off our date.

I guess I had stolen it.

The guilt crawled up my throat, lumping there, and remaining there until I opened my apartment door, grabbing my phone and calling "Matthew (HOT)".

It rang twice, and I winced, nearly hanging up.

Then, "Hello, darling."

My face broke open into a cheesy grin, and I smothered my mouth with my hand.

"Hi," I murmured, feeling like a teenager with a crush. I swallowed, trying to find my footing.

"Everything okay?" he asked, more concerned than annoyed. But probably annoyed.

"Yes, um, I just wanted to let you know that I do have your credit card."

"Oh, alright. You keeping it?"

I giggled, "No, you forgot it at the bar. I picked it up from Jenna this afternoon."

"Right, thanks for doing that, sweetheart," he said, and I nearly curled into the phone, wanting to sleep inside the sound of his voice.

"No problem," I managed, feeling shy suddenly.

"Is dinner still on?" he asked, followed by the sound of a lighter. I could taste the smoke on his lips.

"Sure," I smiled, "You can pick me up at seven, if that's okay."

"Yes, that's okay," he laughed at my polite word choice, "Send me your address? I won't be late."

"Okay."

"Okay," he exhaled quickly, "See you soon."

"See you soon." I hung up before he could say anything else, jittery from my overactive heartbeat. I tossed my phone on the couch, waltzing over to the bathroom to take a shower. A shower could fix anything. A worldwide thinking place, a place for peaceful contemplation. A place to retrieve memories, I hoped.

The water hissed against the white plastic floor, the cold spray tickling my ankles. I shampooed, scrubbed, and rinsed, the taste of tobacco circling my tongue. His jaw, in the orange light, tense and throwing jagged shadows. His long fingers, a cigarette dwindling between them, brushing his lips as he smoked. A puffy cloud of gray, and a toothy, lopsided smile. His mouth is moving, but I can't hear what he's saying. The memory dissipates like his cigarette smoke, leaving me sighing as it slips from me.

I hopped out of the shower, drying off and putting on my robe, staring into the mirror a little too long. I put on my moisturizer, running two fingers down my neck, along my pulse. There were no hickeys, no sore spots, no odd bruises anywhere. I was almost certain I had slept with him, though. Especially from how attached I felt to him, and the dull ache behind my heart that told me I missed him. And he was handsome.

For the rest of the afternoon, I slowly put on my makeup, spending more time listening to music than actually applying the products. I picked an outfit carefully, something cuter than yesterday's casual t-shirt and jeans. I wondered where he was taking me. I tugged out a black dress, medium-length, flattering but not too revealing. It seemed safe and normal.

Fully dressed and ready to go, I sat on the edge of my couch, clutching my phone. I was always ready too early, and usually spent thirty minutes or so stiffly waiting on the couch, unable to relax or do anything but wait.

My phone buzzed in my hand, his name bright on the screen. I had changed his name to just "Matty".

"Hi Matty," I answered, standing and pacing around my coffee table.

"Hi," he replied, "I'm downstairs. Should I come up?"

"No, it's okay, I'll be right down."

"Okay, I'll be here."

I ended the call, leaving my apartment and loudly heading down the stairs. When I exited my building, I saw him in front of some angular black SUV, leaning against the door. His hair was different, gelled back, with a lonely curl slipping over his forehead. He crossed his arms over another white button down, a tie loose around his neck. He wore the same heavy coat, a bold, black silhouette.

As soon as he saw me, he stepped forward, a line between his eyebrows. His jacket was off in one smooth movement, and he wrapped me in it tenderly.

"Cold, darling?" he asked, rubbing my shoulders briskly.

I must have been blushing bright red.

"No, I'm alright," I lied, embarrassed I had forgotten to wear a jacket in my rush to get downstairs.

"You look fantastic," he murmured, "Beautiful."

"You too," I said, throat dry. He smiled. He stepped back, opening the door for me.

"It's not too far from here. Can I keep it a surprise?" He watched me climb into the car, lingering at the door to wait for my answer.

"Sure," I nodded, "I love surprises."

"Okay," he grinned, satisfied, and shut the door.