Impavid

The Pre-Date

     Ding.

     I opened my eyes slowly, blinking a few times. Giving my eyes several seconds to adjust before moving, I rolled over, reaching my hand out toward the nightstand beside my bed. My hand slapped against it, a pain shooting up my arm as the noise echoed around the room. 

     "Ouch," I cursed under my breath, pulling the phone closer to me. 

      I repositioned myself under the blankets I had previously cuddled against, and my eyes squinted at the bright light glowing from the screen before me. Luke's name appeared as I clicked open. His text was brief and yet mysterious: be ready in 10. 

     I groaned, leaning back over to flip on the light beside my bed. Yawning, I replied with a simple okay, not even bothering to question him. I had spent the previous few days with Luke practically non-stop. When we were casual and relatively friendly with each other, I hadn't realized just how goofy he was. Only within the last week, our first official week together, did I realize that I was almost constantly laughing when I was in his presence. 

     I could tell by the way the light was barely peeking into my room that it was still very early, but I had learned to never question Luke's strange ideas. In only our first week together, we had gone on dozens of dates. I had attempted to insist that dates didn't work like that. To me, a date wasn't hanging out all day doing absolutely nothing. 

     When you were in an official relationship with someone, there were designated date nights that usually entailed getting dressed up or going to a movie. Me laying on my couch with my head in his lap throwing Cheetos into the air for him to catch -- while a sappy romantic comedy we weren't even paying attention to played on the television nearby -- was not my idea of a date. I also had tried to explain that if we were together from ten in the morning to midnight straight, we could not consider lunch, the walk we took, the movie we watched, and dinner all separate dates. In my opinion, the whole day wouldn't have even been considered a real date, but if I was compromising, I certainly was only considering it one date. 

     To me, we technically hadn't even been on a date yet. I made sure to remind him of that whenever the opportunity arose. 

    I yawned again as I moved to stand in front of the mirror. I grunted, looking at my sleepy figure and my messy hair. I wondered if my pajama pants were acceptable for this "date." I moved across the room once more, finally deciding it was necessary to question Luke this time. I yawned once more, too lazy to text him. I pressed the call button as the blue bar highlighted his name in my contact list. 

     "Hello?" 

     "What do I need to wear?" I grunted, yawning a fourth time. 

     "Good morning to you, Grumpy." 

     "Luke," I whined, "It's like seven."

     "Thirty," he corrected. "It's seven thirty."

     "Luke." 

     "You don't need to wear anything." 

     I rolled my eyes to myself, laughing out loud.

    "I'm not going naked," I protested. 

     "I didn't mean that." I could tell he was rolling his eyes, too. "Although," He added, "I wouldn't object."

     "I'd hit you if I were there." 

     "If you were here, I'd be okay with that." 

     I smiled, constantly amazed by his lines. Luke didn't give off the cutesy vibe, but he was always whispering cute things in my ear, sending me good morning and good night texts, even if he had just left my house moments before I was all tucked into bed, or kissing my forehead at random times. I moved to my closet, the phone still tucked between my shoulder and my ear. I was still waiting for some kind of idea of what I should wear. Both of us were silent for a few moments, just listening to each other breathe. 

     I had never been one to enjoy talking on the phone, but it was just different with Luke. It was something I couldn't really quite explain. It was nice to hear him breathing, just knowing he was there, even if he wasn't physically with me. 

     Finally, he spoke. 

    "Just wear something comfortable."

    "Sweatpants comfortable or cute comfortable?"

    "Who says sweatpants aren't cute?" 

    "I do." I laughed. While I did love his cute lines for the most part, there were times when they only made me roll my eyes. If he wanted me ready in ten minutes, he sure as hell better give me something to work with. 

     "Don't wear sweats." 

     "Thank you. And a shirt?"

    "Yeah, you should probably wear one of those." 

     I grunted. That humor of his was going to kill me. 

    "I'm hanging up now," I warned. 

    "Not if I hang up first!" He spat, talking fast, before I heard a click. 

     I laughed at this, tossing my phone back onto my bed as I grabbed a random shirt off of a hanger. Most couples in this cute, honeymoon, puppy-love stage of a relationship would insist that the other would hang up first, but with Luke, it was always different. We had always made it a game, wanting to be the one to hang up first. It didn't make any logical sense, but it was something that was special to our relationship. It was ours, so I liked it. 

     I held up the shirt in front of me, glancing at myself in the mirror. It would do, I figured, moving to find some jean shorts. I pulled out my gym shoes, sliding them on quickly as I rushed to the bathroom. I knew when Luke meant ten minutes, he meant it. He would be at my door in only a few short minutes, the countdown for him starting right when he hit send on his phone, even if I hadn't seen the text until moments later. I darted to fix my bed head and apply makeup. 

     I tried to think of an idea of what Luke had planned, attempting to remember anything he had said to me that could be used as a clue. Had he talked about any specific movies or any events coming up that he wanted to attend? I didn't think so, but then again, I knew that even if I had figured out what he had up his sleeve, he'd still add something in to totally throw me off my game. 

     I was brushing my teeth when I heard a soft knock on the backdoor. We had learned that if it was too early or too late at night, it was best to use the backdoor to prevent waking up my parents or Melanie. I had felt like I was sneaking around the first few nights we came back late and slid in the backdoor secretively. I knew I had no curfew, and my mom had said that as long as I was with Luke, she trusted I was safe and could go out and do whatever, but I still felt a pang of guilt as I moved past my parents' dark room at two in the morning. I pulled my hair back with one hand as I spit into the sink. I yawned again. That boy was going to kill me.