"I don't know how to do this!" Drew hissed. "I have never had a guy over before. I mean, not since I lived in New York before I became a basket case. What if he's a psycho? What if he robs me or tries to do something or…something?"
"He might be a psycho, to be fair," Bunz began. "But I highly doubt he wants to rob you. Your shit isn't that great, anyway. And he's been at your apartment way later than seven-thirty at night before and he's had you alone at his gym. If he wanted to do something to you I'm quite certain he would have done it already." She reached out and grabbed Drew by the shoulders, giving her a little shake. "Man up! This is a date, you should be prepared to have –" Drew gave her a murderous look and Bunz grinned. "Fun," she finished innocently. "Have fun."
"I feeling like throwing up," Drew announced. "Everywhere. Like, what do I wear? Do I wear makeup? Am I supposed to shave my legs? I literally do not know what to do. I'm twenty-seven. This is pathetic."
"I mean, you should always be shaving your legs," Bunz said, eyeing her friend suspiciously. "And, I think the makeup you have on now is fine. It's subtle. Natural. You should take your hair down, though." Her eyes moved over Drew critically. "As for what to wear, it's your house. Wear whatever you want to be comfortable in." She shrugged negligently. "Wear panties."
"B!" Drew exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. "Not helpful."
"Okay, okay," Bunz said. "He's always been in gym clothes every time I've seen him because he's always at that gym. He'll probably just wear something like that to your place, so just wear like yoga pants and a cute loose top or something. Just be casual. It really doesn't matter what you wear, okay? Now, chill, son."
Drew sighed and pressed her fingertips into her temples. "What about the food?" she asked. "Do you think what I made is okay?"
"It's perfect," Bunz said reassuringly, shooing Drew toward the door. "Stop freaking out."
"I need, like, a tranquilizer," Drew said. "Or like a Quaalude."
"A Quaalude?" Bunz repeated, stopping in her tracks. "Do you even know what that is?"
"Obviously I'm not being serious," Drew replied with a frown. "But I can't relax and I really don't want to take my meds."
"Really?" Bunz said, momentarily distracted. "Good for you." She waved a hand in front of her. "What you need is a good, stiff shot of whiskey and you'll be fine."
"Right, I'll get drunk," Drew said sarcastically. "Perfect mindset to entertain."
Bunz laughed. She grabbed the deposit bag from Drew and shoved her out the door, locking the café behind her. "Just go. Go get ready, go relax, and have a good time. And I want a full report in the morning, thanks."
Drew waved and trudged off toward her apartment. It was only a three block walk, and she'd have over an hour to get ready. The dinner she'd prepared was ready to go; it just needed to be assembled after he arrived. She'd prepared a simple dessert as well. She felt fine about the food despite her earlier insecurity; really, she was just insecure about herself.
She hurried up the stairs into her apartment. She'd straightened up last night. She generally kept things very tidy and deep-cleaned once a month, so it hadn't been too much work other than to fold throw blankets and scrub cat hair off the upholstery. Her small kitchen was sparklingly neat and the whole place smelled of vanilla, caramel and cinnamon—her favorite aromatic combinations. She fiddled with the light switch on the wall, adjusting the level of lighting. She finally decided to keep the lighting bright enough to see by but not so bright as to be overpowering. She wanted a welcoming, home-y glow—not romantic lighting. She shuddered at the thought.
Finally she moved to her bedroom. She studied herself in the full-length mirror. Bunz probably had a point—being that Heath's "work attire" consisted of athletic clothing, she should probably expect him to show up in that and not a three-piece suit. Currently, she wore jeans, knee-high, heeled boots and a sheer, peach-colored top. She decided to dress it down and go the comfortable route, so she pulled out a clean pair of black yoga pants that had a leopard print, fold-down waist and her favorite old NYU sweatshirt. It was dark charcoal gray with red lettering, and she'd cut the neckline out to hang off her shoulder. It had been washed enough times to take the stiffness out of the cotton, and it was deliciously soft against her skin. She pulled her bobby pins out of her hair and let her long locks fall free. Since they'd been twisted and wound into a bun, they held a deep wave and she ruffled it to make it more voluminous. She tidied up her makeup a little, deciding not to add anything else and brushed her teeth before applying a lightly tinted lip balm that tasted like peppermint. She spritzed herself with her favorite perfume and studied herself critically in the mirror. She blew air hard between her lips and stalked out of the room.