I have a vague recollection of myself hovering over my phone, typing out something about licking stubble, and my stomach suddenly feels like it’s dancing at a late-night rave.
“Ah, shit!” I smack myself on the forehead. “I was drunk texting!”
I race to my phone, terrified of what I might have written, but it seems I did not make a fool out of myself. I read over Nate’s texts a couple of times and then breathe a long sigh.
“I am making way too much of this. I know I am.” I set the phone on the table between my laptop and Vee, sighing again. “This is how I reacted when Justin and I first started dating—all worked up over every little word he lobbed in my direction. In other words, acting like a total idiot.”
Justin had been my one and only serious boyfriend in high school. He played trumpet in the marching band, and I thought he looked so cool in his uniform. He was sweet and caring and very open about his feelings. He was particular open about them when he came out as gay on our prom night, approximately an hour after losing our mutual virginities to one another and thus ending the relationship.
Needless to say, it hit me a little hard.
Despite his protests that it had nothing to do with me or the sex, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was so bad in bed, I actually turned a man gay. I knew that wasn’t true, but damn—talk about timing! He moved to Philadelphia right after graduation, and I never heard from him again. After that, I had a few dates but never anything serious. In fact, last night was the first “successful” date I’d had since high school.
“It wasn’t a date,” I remind myself. I glance at the laptop screen. “I don’t know this guy. I can’t even figure out what his family’s business is. It can’t just be that club and maple trees. Clearly his family is into all kinds of stuff, which means all kinds of money. How many times did Aunt Ginny warn me about people with money?”
Vee doesn’t provide a number, but I bet she remembers the conversations.
Aunt Ginny led a modest life. The antique business paid the bills and allowed us to rent a condo at Deep Creek twice a year—once in the summer and once in the winter. She worked hard for what we had and expected me to contribute as soon as I was old enough to earn a wage outside of the household. She believed people with a lot of money tended to spend it on lavish things that “no one in their right mind needs” and decadence was “the pathway to misery.”
She was never particularly forthcoming as to why money equaled misery, but she did beat it into my head from a very young age, and I tend to agree with her. The people in our hometown were moderate people with moderate views and all in the same, roughly middle-class bracket. Of course, that also means I’ve never really known anyone with a lot of money.
My phone dings, and my heart stops. I glance down, afraid to pick up the phone at first. Considering I haven’t had a text from anyone in weeks, I already know it’s a text from Nate.
Nate O: Good morning, Cherry. I hope you slept well.
“Nate-O.” I can’t help but laugh, even in my slightly hungover state. It just sounds funny. I collect myself and pick up the phone, typing quickly.
I did, thank you. My head is still recovering from the martinis though. I should have stopped earlier. Lol!
I tense as I wait for his response. It takes a while before it comes through.
Nate O: I take full responsibility for any ill effects you may be suffering this morning. I would send a good hangover-style breakfast to your door if I knew your address. Alas, only the cab driver knows for sure.
I bite my lip, holding in the laughter, then frown. How much would breakfast sent to your door cost anyway? Rather extravagant for the morning after a non-date.
I think that would be a bit much, yes.
He doesn’t respond right away, and I hope he doesn’t think my last comment was rude or that I intended to blow him off.
“You are being ridiculous,” I remind myself.
Forcing myself to put the phone down, I head to the kitchen to make some hangover food myself. Eggs and toast are easy enough, and I round out breakfast with coffee and more water. By the time I’ve finished it, I feel a lot better, and my phone dings again.
Nate O: I can only hope I have the opportunity in the future.
“Oh, do you now?” I’m smiling again. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t seem to help myself. I type out a quick response.
Are you saying you want to get me drunk again?
His response is a quick one.
Nate O: Did I say that? How horrible of me. ;)
I laugh.
I’m sure it was an autocorrect accident.
Nate O: Of course it was.
I debate my response for a moment. Despite my reservations, the flirty banter is fun, and I don’t want it to end. Even if he is rich, I haven’t felt this excited about talking to someone in a long time, maybe ever.
As I try to decide what to write, another message comes through.
Nate O: My apologies, Cherry, but I have some business to attend to. If you will be available later this evening, I’d like to call you.
How proper!
I bite my lip and keep my response simple.
I should be around.
Nate O: Glorious. I’ll call you around 8.
I glance at
