"Red. What's yours?"
"Red too. Do you have a job?"
"Yes, but I want a different one."
"Me too. Beer or wine?"
"I don't drink. I'm eighteen."
"Liar."
"I don't drink regularly."
"Okay, Coke or Pepsi?"
"Coke. How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
"You don't look like it."
"I don't act like it, either."
"Why the questions?" I finally asked. The windows were so fogged I couldn't even see the car parked next to his.
"I don't want you to think I'm just trying to get in your pants. I want in your brain, too."
"You are getting closer to the keys that unlock both of those."
We started testing boundaries then. His hands moved up. Mine moved down. Pretty soon we didn't need our shirts to keep warm. I had my very first orgasm not by my own hand that night. Oh, so I guess that make-out doesn't count …
Theresa laughs, taking me out of my thoughts and back into our dessert. Greg finally decides to go place our order, and I lean in and say through my teeth, "Never."
"Huh?"
"Landon and I have never just kissed."
She blinks, then her brain catches up with mine. "Not even the first time?"
"Well, that time we were only lip to lip, but after that, I mean, Landon and I are handsy, I guess."
That and when we started hard-core making out, hell, why not go all the way? Even if it is a quickie during a commercial break.
"Then figure out where to put up your stop signs."
"That's it. I can't. I just want him to keep going, and I think he wants to keep going, but he won't because he doesn't want to lose, and I won't because I don't want to lose, then he pulls away and he's … and I'm … and then we're both … "
"Unbearable."
I chuck my straw wrapper at her. "I was going to say on edge."
She pulls her dark curls back, snapping an elastic band around them. "Just give in. Go to Utah."
My eyes narrow. "I will not."
She laughs and sits back as Greg brings us water and our cheesecake. I'm into it so fast I nearly stab him with my fork.
Oh, sweet loving monkeys. It's like a natural shot of endorphins straight to my hypothalamus.
Theresa kicks her feet up next to me on the seat, taking the daintiest bites possible, while I'm seconds away from nose-diving into the raspberry sauce.
"You should propose, like, a once-a-month deal."
"I can't do that," I say around the soft cream-cheese goodness. Do they make this stuff with hormone drugs? "He'll totally rub it in. And seriously, this was your idea. Why are you not backing me up?"
"Oh come on. I have flimsy ideas all the time. Like you."
She's got to be kidding me.
I. Am. Not. Flimsy!
Sure, I went into theater classes and quit that.
And I spent exactly two days learning piano.
And maybe I try diets for about twenty seconds before I see a burger I must devour.
But that's normal. I can stick to my guns when I want to.
"Well, I'm fine," I say, wiping my finger across my now-empty plate. "I can stand another three and a half months. It's not even that bad, really. And I can commit, damn it. I'm getting married. Do flimsy girls get married? Hell no! So if I want to wait to hump my crazy sexy fiancé into oblivion, I will do it! I'll show you guys Elizabeth Fanning is not a flake!"
Theresa's mouth is wide open, slight smile in the corners, and her palms are up.
"Okay, Liz. Step away from the fork."
I breathe heavy, looking down at my hand clutching my utensil like I'm about to gouge the next person who walks by. Several patrons are looking at me-a pair of old ladies are giggling and winking. A couple of freshmen from NYU stare blatantly at my boobs. And a mother covers her ten-year-old's ears.
"Oh, balls," I say, dropping the fork and resting my forehead in my hands. "What is happening to me?"
"Eat more chocolate." Theresa shoves her plate toward me.
"You can't have sex with chocolate."
"You can, but it gets messy."
An image of Landon covered in Hershey's Chocolate Syrup plants itself in every thought recess, and suddenly I'm adding whipped cream, raspberries, and my legs clench together under the table.
"Damn it. You're supposed to be helping me."
"Oh!" She slaps her hands on the table, jolting me in my seat. "Let's find your dress!"
"It's depressing enough with my lady bits on lockdown. Now you want me to go look at gorgeous dresses I can't afford."
"Don't think about it. Let's just browse."
Even though it's probably the last thing that'll help my terrible sex-deprived, penny-pinching body, I let her drag me from the booth and out to the car. She taps on her Google Maps app, and I sit in the front seat, contemplating the many ways I could cheat and relieve some of the pressure.
But I've never been a good liar. Landon would see right through my satisfied face … and the fact that I'm not snapping at him every time he says … well, anything.
"There's a place about twenty minutes away."
"Whatever."
"Geez, I'm buying you more chocolate."
She pulls into a gas station and gets me a huge Symphony Bar, and I jam it into my purse. I'll save it for after I look at every dress that is so out of my budget.
We pull up to a shop with sleek black and white paneling, and I give Theresa a look that I know I should feel bad about, but I'm too "unbearable" to care. There is no way I'll be able to afford anything inside those doors.
"Make sure your left hand is front and center," she says as we hop out of the car. I twist my ring, liking the extra weight, and for two seconds I feel like my normal self. Until we walk in and see one-and only one-rack that says, ON SALE! DRESSES UNDER $999.99.
I'm going to need a bigger candy bar.
-
Theresa covers her huge grin, eyes lingering up and down the bodice of this unbelievably beautiful dress I told her she's not allowed to like because the tag says, "$First Born Child."
"It's hideous," she lies.
"I knew I shouldn't have tried it on." I'm never going to take it off. My fingers tumble down my stomach, over the satin, the lace, the red flowery seams. "Maybe they'll take a Starbucks card."
"You'll just have to save up for it."
"That and everything else."
Theresa fixes the veil atop my head, gently admiring the tiny red flowers jeweled along the hem. I flick my gaze back and forth between my best friend and this gown I've only seen in my wildest dreams. It makes me look like I've been dropped from the heavens. I could be plastered on magazines titled "Goddesses Do Exist!" I don't want to take off this magical material that has transformed the unbearable shrew into the fairest of them all.
And my ass! It's never looked so awesome.
"Oh, wow," I hear behind me, and I look over my shoulder to a dimply woman with wild brown hair gazing admiringly at me on my tiny pedestal. "That dress is gorgeous on you."
And if I hadn't gone bat crazy before, I do now, slamming my face into my hands and shouting through muffled sobs, "I know!"
Theresa holds on to my shoulders, and I see through my fingers her making a lack-of-money gesture at this poor woman who is now witness to my mental breakdown.
"Goodness, I'm sorry," she fumbles, adjusting the bright green bridesmaid dress over her arm. "I understand, though. When I got married I had to wear the cheapest gown I could find. It wasn't the one I wanted, but if it's any consolation, out of all the things that happened that day, the second-best dress was the least of my problems."
Oh, that's just fabulous. My shoulders heave as another wave of crazy sobs cascade through my body. The lady starts waving her hands as if she didn't mean to make things worse, but sweet mother of pearl, what else am I to expect on what is supposed to be the most epic day of my life?
Theresa continues to rub my arms, trying to calm me down, but there is no way in hell that it's going to happen. I need Landon. I need cuddles. I need touchy-touchy kissy-kissy.
The woman takes a step toward me, bends down, and fixes the long train. "Did you get this in the winter department?"
Theresa nods for me, grabbing a conveniently placed box of tissues on a table near the mirrors.
"When's your date?"
I clear my throat, take a Kleenex, and dab at my nose. "January fifteenth."
Her face brightens. "Well, if you're not in a hurry … this store always does a winter sale. Every winter bride gets a discount, and all winter dresses are marked down. So knock a couple zeroes off the tag. If the dress is still here, that's probably what it'll cost."
I blink a few times, stare at her as if she's gone crazy with me. But she just gives me an awkward smile.
"Seriously?" I croak.
She nods. "It's a way for them to clean out their winter stuff so the spring line can come in. My sister-in-law wanted a fifteen-hundred-dollar dress, waited a couple weeks for the sale, and got it for five hundred."