A/N: Chapters 30-45 are on Patreon along with other exclusive scenes if you want to check those out!
Jasmine's POV:
I open my door and see Marc towering over me. I swallow hard, trying to steady my nerves. Why is he looking at me like that? What's happening? My mind races, imagining scenarios that range from him being upset with me to the worst-case scenario—him canceling. I can't decide which would hurt more.
"Hey, we need to talk," Marc mutters nervously, his eyes flicking away from mine.
Why does he look so concerned? He can't even meet my gaze. What happened? Why does it look like he's seen a ghost? Oh God, is he about to cancel the date?
"Is everything okay?" I ask, my voice tight as I try to suppress the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind.
"No, not everything is fine," he murmurs, his words carrying a weight I've never heard before. It makes me feel like the ground is shifting beneath me. I've never seen him like this, and it makes me instantly nervous.
"You don't seem okay, Marc. What's wrong?" I press, my concern growing. The anxiety in my chest tightens, and I try to get him to open up.
"Do you want to just cancel our date and stay in to talk about it? I'm perfectly fine with staying in," I offer quickly, my stomach dropping at the thought of not going. But his well-being is the priority right now.
"I'm just sad that..." he starts, but I cut him off, anxiety flaring up.
"Why are you sad?" I ask, desperate for clarity. I need to understand what's going on before I fall apart.
"This is our first date, and the restaurant screwed up our reservation, so we have to go to another one," he says, the words coming out in a rushed, almost defeated way.
Oh my God. I thought someone had died, or he was about to cancel. I almost laugh out of relief, but my heart is still racing.
"I was genuinely terrified something was wrong, Marc. But it's okay if we can't go to this restaurant. As long as I'm with you, I'm happy," I reassure him, my voice softer now, trying to ease the tension. I still can't help the way my heart pounds in my chest.
"Nah, I'm not going to cancel the date over that," he says, a weak smile tugging at his lips. But it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I've been looking forward to this, you know? I don't like it when things go wrong like this. I guess I'm just frustrated. Are you still down to go on our date?"
Relief floods me. But I can't let it show too much. I can't come off as too eager or desperate—it'll make me look too invested.
"Yeah, we're chilling," I answer, cringing the moment the words leave my mouth.
Oh my God, "We're chilling"? Did I really just say that? Someone please shoot me. Since when do I talk like that? I'm going to be mortified forever.
"Perfect. Meet me in the living room in an hour," Marc says, before turning toward the door. He walks away, and I hear him heading to his room. The door closes softly behind him, and the air in the room feels a little less tense.
"Oh my God, Nya, please help me!" I almost shout, pulling my phone out of my pocket to get back to our facetime. "He asked me if I was still down to go on a date, and I said, 'Yeah, we're chilling!'"
"Yeah, I heard that," she laughs, her voice full of amusement. She's not helping at all.
"Nya, I need you to help me pick out an outfit. I only have one two-piece, and I'm just gonna put it on and you tell me what you think." I scramble through my closet, desperately searching for something—anything—that'll make me look decent.
"Are you wearing the outfit you wore at my birthday? Are you really saying your first date with a guy you barely know is as important as my birthday?" she teases, raising an eyebrow.
"Nya, please, this is the only thing I have that doesn't make me look homeless," I plead, hoping she'll understand how serious the situation is.
"Fine, I'll allow it," she says, rolling her eyes but smiling anyway. I know she's secretly dying to see me freak out a little more.
"Nya, as you heard earlier, I obviously have no idea how to have a normal conversation. What am I supposed to say on the date?" I ask, feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on me. The pressure is real now.
"Girl, you've literally been talking to him every night for the past three weeks, and you're telling me you don't know how to talk to him?" Nya responds, raising an eyebrow.
"That was just us talking about our week and therapy. This is an actual date—mundane stuff. Maybe a little trauma dumping here and there. Are you hearing me? I said, 'We're chilling.' I can't keep embarrassing myself like that on our date!"
Nya just laughs, completely unfazed. "Girl, it's simple. All you gotta do is let him talk about himself. Boom, next thing you know, you're bouncing on him like a pogo stick screaming 'Oh daddy you're so big.'" She moans out, roleplaying the scenario she has in her head, making light of the entire situation.
For a moment, I stop to think. Maybe I've been stressing too much—overthinking, overanalyzing everything. Maybe I just need to let go and enjoy this. Nya's right in her own way. Maybe I just need to stop being afraid of messing it up and just have fun.
"Okay, for one, we're not having sex, and even if we were, you and I both know I'm way too lazy for that," I say, laughing at her suggestion, even though my face feels hot with embarrassment.
"Honestly, I think that's why guys can't get enough of me. Women don't want to put in the work. Me? I do it for the game." She grins proudly, completely missing the point of my meltdown.
In Nya's mind she's always the main character. I bet she's the life of the party when she goes on dates, and everyone loves her. I wish I had even a fraction of that. She's so unapologetically herself, so fiercely confident, no matter what the world throws at her. Even now, as I'm spiraling, she's not just handling the situation—she's thriving in it. She's able to find joy in what others might see as a mess and turn it into exactly what it is meant to be—a date, a time to laugh, to relax, to just have fun.".
As I finish getting ready, I realize I just have to put on my shoes. I rush to the bathroom, setting up my camera on the counter so that Nya can see my entire outfit.
"So, what do we think?" I ask, hoping she won't bash me too hard on my fashion sense.
"Are those Jordans?" she asks, eyeing my shoes with a raised eyebrow.
"I don't own any heels, Nya," I reply, glancing down at my sneakers, feeling slightly self-conscious.
"Bitch, regardless, you look perfect. If he has a problem with the way you look, then I'll just take you out myself."
I glance at my reflection before walking out the door. Maybe this will be a great night. Maybe.
YOU ARE READING
Friends
RomanceMarc'Qwuan Reid is a 23 year hopeless romantic with a crush on his roommate, a woman named Jasmine. Their friendship was perfect until she took her first steps into getting over her ex. Now they notice new things about each other that puts their fri...
