Holtz told me when we left the firehouse that she would pick me up at seven. I got home a little after four, but I'm pretty sure I've been standing in front of my closet, trying to decide what to wear, for about an hour. She told me to wear something comfy, but I want to look good for her, too.
I go ahead and take a shower; hoping I come up with an acceptable outfit idea after clearing my head a little. Some of my best ideas have come about in the shower. I take my time, soaking in the hot water, letting it run over my face, calming my nerves. I know this shouldn't be such a big deal. We've been friends for more than a year now and we've hung out together a million times. I mean, it's just Holtzmann. Why does this feel so different? So...new? So adventurous. So, exciting. I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that my heart beats a mile a minute when I'm near her, or that all she has to do is wink to turn me into a blubbering mess. Or that the feelings I've had for her for so long are at least somewhat reciprocated.
I get out of the shower and go to stand in front of my closet again. Jeans. Definitely jeans. Comfortable, yet aesthetically pleasing. Flannel. It's chilly out too, so it would be warm and comfortable. I'm glad I managed to do a load of laundry, because my favorite red and black flannel I wear all the time is clean and hanging up. It fits perfectly; it's one of those fitted shirts that hug in all the right places. What shoes go better with red and black flannel than Converse? So, clothes: check.
I lay the outfit on the bed, then go to my dresser, opening the top drawer. I grab a pair of underwear, but a thong I bought years ago catches my eye. I've never worn it. I've just never mustered the confidence. Maybe.... I pick it up and hold it out in front of me, fighting an internal battle. Would Holtz even like me in these? Come on, Erin, you haven't even gone a date with her yet and you're mind's already in the gutter. But... just in case. I take them and the outfit in the bathroom and change.
By the time I dress, put on my makeup, and do my hair, it's ten till seven. I sit on the couch and flip through channels on the television, trying to keep my nerves in check. I'm so incredibly excited, but nervous at the same time. I fiddle with my phone, looking through Facebook, the minutes crawling by as slow as a turtle. Holtz is almost always late to everything she does, so I assume this won't be any different.
The doorbell chimes. I look at the clock on my phone. 6:57. Guess I was wrong.
I open the door and Holtz stands in the hallway with her hands behind her back. I'm struck at how sexy she looks for the millionth time it seems. She's wearing light brown slacks, a white buttoned shirt (the top few buttons loose, revealing the slightest amount of cleavage where her Screw U necklace hangs), a dark brown leather motorcycle jacket, and the same black Doc Martens.
"You look sexy as hell, Gilbert." The compliment pulls me out of the X-rated thoughts that were beginning to form and my cheeks turn pink.
"Thanks, Holtz. You don't look too bad yourself."
She pulls out a small bouquet of orchids. "I remembered you said you were allergic to roses. And I noticed you have orchids sitting on your desk sometimes. So I hope you like these."
"Oh my god, that's so sweet. I love them! Let me put them in some water." I can't believe she remembered I was allergic to roses. I don't even remember saying it.
I motion for Holtz to come inside and shut the door behind her. I go to the kitchen and grab a vase from under the sink, filling it with water. When I turn around, Holtz is sitting at my bar, fiddling with her fingers. She looks nervous. Like genuinely nervous. It's nice to know I'm not the only one.
"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask, centering the vase on the bar. She looks up and I smile reassuringly at her.
"I'm just, nervous, I guess." She looks back down at her fingers.
